An Ordinary Magical Couple
by Bfd1235813
Summary: Harry is just this eleven-year-old trying to cope when Hagrid shows up. Daphne Greengrass is smart, plain, hardworking and a pureblood witch from a family of very modest means. They aren't rich or prominent among the wizarding social set, but they are full of guile and learn fast. Of course they're underestimated, until it is too late.
1. Chapter 1

**_Acknowledgement:_**_ The author makes no claim to anything in this story, which takes place in the Potterverse and therefore belongs to the very paragon of writerly virtue, Ms. JK Rowling. Props and gratitude to Ms. Rowling for letting us apply our imaginations to the places and people throughout Potterdom._

**_Author's Note/Forward:_**_Anyone interested in a Harry Potter with no surprise fortune, no surprise fiancée, just a junior wizard with hopes of becoming an honest, workaday auror, IF he can make it through training and probation? Someone who's a plucky guy with aspirations, imagination and a knack for landing on his feet?_

_These stories take place roughly in the same time and space as the seven canonical books. There was so much essential material that just HAD to get into that limited, canonical text, it is entirely possible some other interesting things happened that couldn't be fit in, isn't it? Like Harry was not the poor orphan he thought he was, because his parents managed to leave him enough gold to complete his education, but that was about it. He liked Ginny Weasley fine as a friend and was even prepared to court danger to bring her back to her family. At the same time, he recognized she wasn't the companion he was meant to find, court and bond with for his life's journey._

_Daphne Greengrass, likewise, came from a good family of modest means, the most minor of the minor magical nobility, but Oh, those magical genes! At eleven she was plain, pale, skinny and uninterested in pursuing pleasures of the flesh. Her parents might have considered an offer of marriage from a suitable family, had anyone been interested, but their magical circle had much more attractive, and richer, maiden witches to haggle over than Daphne. She didn't mind. She might not have articulated it just so, but she'd always known she would make her way in the world with her brains, not her bum. Well, a girl surely has a right to change her mind over the course of seven years, doesn't she?_

_This supplemental material presumes the reader possesses a working knowledge of canon._

**_Fair Warning_**_! If you've read the author's __**Wheels Within Wheels**__stories, put them out of your mind because these are a completely new and different exercise._

ONE

Prelude

"HOW did you meet Grandmother?" demanded the little girl.

Harry Potter managed to get his dessert plate with its load of carrot cake to the side-table before his granddaughter physically displaced it by crawling up onto his lap.

"Doria!" called the little girl's mother, her tone of voice carrying notes of reproach and caution, not to go further.

"Don't worry about it, Boudica," said Harry Potter's wife, Daphne. "Harry telling the world's most boring tall tale on top of opening presents and putting away Christmas dinner might be just the calmative the younger ones need."

Daphne turned her attention back to the elves who were disapparating leftovers from the dining table to the kitchen, clearing the china and cutlery, and getting ready to charm the table back to its usual size. Boudica Potter, Daphne and Harry's daughter-in-law, gave Doria a warning look before turning and sending Daphne a wordless "Thank-you," as Harry began the story.

"It was a long, long time ago, on the train to Hogwarts, although we'd actually spoken a few days before, in Diagon Alley…"

Rubeus Hagrid the half-giant generally took no guff from anyone, human, giant, or one of the other varieties of bipeds that inhabited the magical spaces of Britain. Hagrid spoke respectfully, though, when dealing with the goblins of Gringotts Bank.

"Mr. Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal," he said to the goblin across the counter, keeping his voice down.

Harry, just eleven years old, was about to acquire everything needed to begin his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but before he could do that he must first tap into his savings.

Just twenty-four hours earlier Harry believed he was a poor, orphaned relation, farmed out to a pretentious exurban family located someplace in between the middle-middle class and the lower band of the upper middle class. His foster family convinced him he was going to be starting at the local comprehensive school and he should be glad they were putting themselves out to such a degree on his unworthy behalf. Then one of the stranger of the strange things that happened around Harry happened. Hagrid had shown up and whisked Harry away to embark on the long arc of his magical education, starting with a trip to Diagon Alley for his first year kit.

Harry didn't know it but the magical coinage in his vault-galleons, sickels and knuts-was his earthly estate, or most of it. Harry had never had any money, as he was completely dependent on his relatives and his relatives never let him handle money, much less have even a little bit of his own. Thus he was seriously disorganized in his thinking as he stood in the vault, staring at the piles and piles of coins.

"How…" he began, unable to go further.

Hagrid explained that his parents had put the money aside for him when he was still a baby, before they had been murdered. Harrys' aunt and uncle had never told him the true story of his parents' deaths, leading to more confusion. Harry knew they had a lot to do that day, so he managed, with a bit of struggle, to tamp down his raging curiosity and return to focusing on the day's tasks.

Harry knew nothing about the costs of clothing and school supplies.

"How much should I take?" he asked Hagrid.

"Let's see, Professor Dumbledore wrote it down," Hagrid muttered, reaching inside his overcoat.

Hagrid read his instructions then handed the small piece of parchment to Harry for confirmation. Griphook, the goblin who had brought the two down to Harry's vault, supplied a canvas bank bag to hold the coins. Harry counted out coins in the amounts shown on Dumbledore's note. The bulky bag presented a problem. Harry knew he couldn't carry the coins around all day and the bag was too big to fit in his trouser pocket.

"Just give it a moment, Mr. Potter," said Griphook. "The bag has an embedded bulk reduction charm. The coins will assume their normal size when you need to spend them."

Harry stood in the torchlit cavern and looked down at the bag. He watched, barely able to believe what he was seeing, as the bag shrank and became lighter and lighter in his hands, until it was the size of a small coin purse and would fit easily into a pocket in his jeans.

"All set?" Hagrid asked, not giving the appearance of being at all surprised.

Harry had had more than enough of the oily smoke from the torches and the smell of mildew in the cavern.

"I think so," Harry said, eager to get back to the surface.

"One more stop, then we'll go," said Hagrid.

When they stepped back into the sunshine and fresh air of Diagon Alley, Harry stood still on the steps of the bank and breathed in, deeply, through his nostrils.

"Need to get the old stuff out of the lungs?" asked Hagrid, a little mirth showing in the crinkled corners of his eyes.

"It's okay, now," Harry said. "I'm sorry, but I felt like I was going to throw up down there."

"Everyone feels like they're going to do that, the first time they go down there," said Hagrid. "I think the goblins like it that way. For security, you know. Another layer."

Hagrid stopped before a shop with several robes in the window. Harry wondered what he'd be needing a robe for.

"Students wear robes to class at Hogwarts, Harry," Hagrid explained. "Now, Madame Malkin knows her business, so you can just tell her you're about to start your first year at Hogwarts and you'll need the standard robes for every day and dress. She has the same list you got. While she's fixing you up, I'll save us some time and go pick up your supplies—parchment and quills and the like. Then we'll meet right here and go on to Flourish and Blotts for your books."

Hagrid and Madame Malkin were equally efficient that day, and Hagrid entered the shop just as Madame Malkin said, "Done, you can hop down now, Mr. Potter. Hagrid! Right on time."

Outside, Harry and Hagrid reorganized their growing load of school kit. When they'd redistributed everything into manageable lots, Hagrid nodded across the street.

"Books!" he said. "You can save a little money if there's a good, clean used book. Might as well go new on something like the _Standard Book of Spells_. You'll be wearing that one out, likely as not."

Harry took the book list that came with his Hogwarts letter and walked into the stacks. He read the titles to himself as he searched the cards stuck to the oak shelves.

"Potions…potions…potions…" he muttered.

Someone took a pinch of Harry's sleeve, pulling him from the spot where he stood to one eleven-year-old's stride to his right. Harry looked up from his book list into a pair of blue eyes set under pale eyebrows in an equally pale face.

"Pardon my presumption, but I can save you a little time," said the girl. She waved a first year potions book that she held in her free hand.

"Looking for one of these?"

"Yes, thank-you very much," said Harry, reaching for the shelf.

"Do you want new or used?" asked the girl.

"I'd take used, if it isn't already falling apart," Harry replied.

"Wise decision," said the girl, handing Harry the copy in her hand. "The binding is good and it hasn't been written in. I'd say one owner, last year."

She turned her attention back to the shelf and selected a book for herself before walking around the end of the shelf and disappearing. Harry returned to his list. He didn't need Runes, which took care of the R's, but what, and where was this Syllabary?

"Ouch!"

Feet shuffled in the next aisle. Without thinking, Harry stepped around the corner to see the girl who had just helped him dancing out of the way of a boy with a headful of blond hair. From her stance and movements it appeared she'd just incurred a pinch to her bottom and was trying to evade a second.

"A-hum," Harry said, clearing his throat. Harry had spoken with the boy in Madame Malkin's and hadn't liked him very much. The boy's face darkened. He held Harry's gaze for a moment before pivoting and leaving the aisle without a word.

"Thank-you," the girl whispered before brushing past Harry, making a quick exit in the opposite direction, her face red from throat to hairline.

A few days later Harry sat in a cabin on the Hogwarts Express, getting acquainted with Ron Weasley and trying to learn something about the magical world into which he'd just been thrown. To tell the truth, he felt he'd been shoved into the deep end of a vast swimming pool, the victim of a misguided benefactor who believed the best way to learn was to be presented with the option to sink or swim, the decision being left entirely to the individual.

Ron tried his best to fill in the gaps in Harry's knowledge. It was an impossible task since Harry didn't know what to ask and Ron had no idea what Harry didn't know. Ron's experience with non-magical people, whom Harry had learned were called muggles, in magical patois, was extremely limited. Ron was amazed when Harry informed him that one of his chores was answering the telephone for his aunt and uncle. Harry had to answer the same way every time or he would be scolded or threatened with being sent to an orphanage.

"Oi!" said Ron, "It'd be the orphanage for me, the first day. How did you learn to do it?"

Harry just looked at Ron. He really didn't know how Harry could figure out something as complicated as answering the phone. On the other hand, Harry was at a loss when he told Ron about walking down Charing Cross Road with Hagrid to get to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Couldn't you take the floo?" Ron asked.

Harry had never heard of traveling by floo so he mumbled something about "Apparently not," and turned his head to the window.

Harry turned back around at the sound of the compartment door opening. A girl poked her head into the compartment.

"Can we…?" she asked. She'd left the sentence hanging, unfinished, but it was clear she was asking permission for herself and at least one other person to enter. Ron and Harry scrambled to give the girl a space to sit, continuing to clear the rest of their gear off the seat for her companion.

"Hullo," said the first girl as she extended her hand to Ron, then to Harry. "Tracey. Tracey Davis."

"Ron Weasley," said Ron.

"Harry Potter."

Tracey's companion froze when she saw Harry. Harry stopped clearing space when he looked up and saw the second girl.

"You…" Harry tried.

"We…," the girl acknowledged. "Books."

"I didn't thank you properly," Harry said, pushing all of his things further to the side and knocking some to the cabin floor. "I apologize. I found used books for most of my classes. You saved me a bundle."

"Daphne," said the second girl as she extended her hand. "Greengrass."

Tracey still had not gotten her voice to work after Harry identified himself. Harry stepped across the cabin to Ron's seat and waved his hand at the now-empty place he had just vacated.

"Please," he said. The girls looked at one another. Neither spoke, but they clearly came to a decision and sat, both of them grasping the hems of their skirts and pulling down firmly, succeeding in just getting their knees under a bit of cover.

"Isn't your father in the Ministry?" Tracey asked Ron.

"Yep," Ron said with obvious pride. "Muggle Artifacts."

Ron's father was a minister, then. Harry tried to place Muggle Artifacts in the churches with which he was familiar. He'd seen signs for churches of various types, and the father of one of the students in his school turned up at school functions in his clerical garb, which is how Harry learned the man was the vicar at St. Herman the Bodger, an Anglican parish with roots in a long-vanished community of furniture makers.

Harry wanted to talk to his acquaintance from Flourish and Blotts more than he wanted to know about Ron's father's strange Ministry where wizards apparently worshipped Muggle Artifacts. He grabbed a random piece of their haul from the Trolley Witch and held it out to Daphne.

"Sweet?"

"Oh, a chocolate frog!" said Daphne, sounding quite pleased with Harry's tribute. She looked at Tracey.

"Want to share?"

"Sure," nodded Tracey. "Thanks, Harry."

"So, ladies," Ron began.

"Witches," said the two, in unison.

"So, witches," Ron tried again. "What's up?"

"Nothing today, except the sorting and Beginning-Of-Term Feast," Tracey said, adding, "According to the calendar."

"Calendar?" asked Harry.

"In the package that came with your letter," said Daphne. She looked at Tracey while dabbing her pinky at a sticky spot near the corner of her mouth.

Tracey pulled out a tissue and got rid of the chocolate.

"Ah," said Harry. "My relatives kept my letter from me."

The other three stopped talking and stared at Harry.

"That's not…"

"How could they?"

"That's got to be illegal…"

Plus a few others circulated while the group dealt with the conundrum.

"They're muggles and they get upset when they hear anything about magic," Harry explained. He didn't go further because he didn't understand it any more than the rest of the cabin did.

Daphne thought the conversation might be easier if it were redirected.

"I expect you want to go to Gryffindor, Ron," she said. "Didn't your whole family get sorted into Gryffindor?"

"Pretty much," said Ron. "My parents, and all my brothers. Ginny will be along next year, of course, so we'll see. I honestly don't care, although Slytherin might not be a good place for me. Some people have called us blood traitors."

The witches looked down, then snuck quick looks between themselves. The entire conversation had just passed completely outside Harry's frames of reference.

"What? Traitors? I don't understand," Harry said.

"Later," Ron muttered. He shook his head just slightly at the witches.

A chill had definitely descended on the cabin.

"Well," said Daphne. "Thank-you gentleman wizards for your hospitality. We were not in good company where we were, but now we'd better get changed, then we should to be coming to Hogsmeade. You ought to change, too. Hope you wizards get the house you want."

Daphne got up, smiled and gave Ron's hand one shake. Tracey was right behind her. Daphne didn't move on from Harry as quickly as Tracey anticipated, getting her a bump in the back. She held her place, and Harry's hand, not saying anything. Harry noticed her eyes glance one time at his hairline, the site of his famous lightning bolt scar. Tracey was getting jumpy, so Daphne cut things short.

"Good luck, Harry," she said. "Thank-you for everything. Have a wonderful year."

"Thank-you for the conversation," Harry said. "You have a wonderful year, too."

Tracey and Daphne left the cabin and walked down the corridor, Ron and Harry watching them go.

"Want to lower the shade?" Ron asked as he pulled down a soft shoulder bag and laid it on the seat. "That Tracey Davis…"

"Oh, did you like the way she looked?" Harry asked, suppressing a laugh as he figured out the window shades.

"Well, she's alright, I guess," Ron said, backtracking a little as he opened his neatly-packed bag.

"They both seemed nice, to me, anyway," Harry said. "We didn't ask them what house they want to go to."

"I'm guessing they'll be in Slytherin," said Ron. "I don't really know them, but I've heard of them, and their families, and I think that's where their parents were. If they do go to Slytherin I hope they don't go all Dark. I don't think they will. They seemed to have good attitudes."

"Dark?" Harry asked.

"Oh, sorry, forgot," said Ron. "Dark Magic. It's curses and lots of dirty tricks. I don't know a lot about it. Not fun stuff. Most of it is outlawed, but there are bad people among witches and wizards, just like there are among the muggles, and they can do bad things. Slytherin has had more trouble with people experimenting than the other houses."

"What do you know about the others?" Harry asked as he buttoned his white dress shirt. "This is all completely new to me, if you couldn't tell."

"All the houses have good and bad. Gryffindor is supposed to be for fighters, but my brother Percy is a Gryffindor prefect and I don't know if he could fight if his life depended on it. Percy is very smart. You'd think he'd have gone to Ravenclaw, which is supposed to be for the serious scholars. Hufflepuff's got a reputation for attracting slackers, but they stick together. One for all, all for one. Slytherin is for really ambitious people. Plus there is that Dark Magic reputation."

"Oh," Harry said. "That all makes sense. The houses have their own reputations, but the people are more of a mixture."

Ron looked off into space, thinking about what Harry said.

"I guess that's right," Ron said. "Never thought about it that way. Where do you want to go, now that you know a something about the houses?"

"Not sure I know enough to pick," Harry said. He touched his scar. "I may have to learn to defend myself. Oh, I have to learn everything. What difference does it make?"

The sorting ceremony was interesting enough. Harry tried to pay attention but standing with the other first years in the Great Hall, under the enchanted ceiling, with light supplied by great, oil-filled cauldrons, levitating candles and torches, he fought distraction throughout. First Tracey, then Daphne went to Slytherin, just as Ron had predicted. Draco Malfoy also went to Slytherin, making it easy for Harry to advise the Sorting Hat he'd gladly go anyplace BUT Slytherin. That evening, when it was too late to do anything about it, Harry's thoughts caught up to his actions and he began to feel he'd put his own dislike of Malfoy ahead of his concern for his new acquaintances. Maybe that bravery thing was overblown in Gryffindor. If he'd been in Slytherin he could have done something about the bottom-pinching. On the other hand, when the Sorting Hat said "Gryffindor!" and Harry got down from the stool, he'd glanced toward the Slytherins and Daphne had definitely winked at him, while Tracey gave him a subtle thumb's-up. Maybe they knew something he didn't know.

Ron, following family tradition, carried on the long line of Gryffindor Weasleys, his emotions divided between satisfaction at being among his brothers and disappointment that he would not be exploring new ground.

Harry didn't see much of Tracey and Daphne that week, although Gryffindor and Slytherin did have a shared potions class with Professor Snape. When Saturday arrived the September weather was glorious so Harry decided to take a long route to the Great Hall for lunch and went for a walk along the shore of the lake.

He was walking, a bit lost in thought, when he heard a familiar voice say, "Hi, Harry," as Daphne stepped out from behind a tree.

"Daphne!" Harry said. "I didn't see…Congratulations on getting sorted into Slytherin. Ron said he thought that was where you would go. Oh—sorry, I don't even know if that was where you wanted to go. Did I…?"

"No, you're right," Daphne laughed. "Sorry. Your whole face just went through the most interesting changes. Sure, I wanted to go to Slytherin. I have goals. Salazar Slytherin wanted students with ambition, then he believed he could show them how to achieve whatever they wanted to achieve. Whether he could do that or not is still being debated. It's definitely in the Slytherin House atmosphere, though. How about you?"

Harry barely knew Daphne, but something told him he could go ahead.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he said. Harry looked around to be sure they were alone and he could speak freely. "I asked for anything BUT Slytherin. Malfoy went to Slytherin and I didn't want to have to spend the next few years bumping up against him. We seem to naturally dislike…and it wasn't until later that I realized that I'd thought of myself and not you, and Tracey, of course. Not very noble of me, was it?"

"Maybe not at first, but you're just getting used to thinking that way, aren't you?" Daphne said.

"That's…that's…," Harry stammered. "Thank-you!"

"Feel better?" Daphne asked.

"Lots!" Harry exclaimed. "I owe you."

"Very noble once again," laughed Daphne. "We were both glad to see you went to Gryffindor. We watched your interaction with Draco. Both of you in the same house might not…I agree this is better, for everyone. Professor Snape seemed a bit negative toward you, and Granger, too, in potions. Any idea why?"

"None," said Harry. "Something about me sets him off. As for Hermione, she's a fanatic for the books. Maybe she is just a smarty-pants to the Professor."

"Is she a smarty-pants?" Daphne asked, stifling a giggle with the end of the bell sleeve of her gown.

"Well, uh…," Harry tried. The giggling got louder. "Not as such. She prepares…knows her lessons…"

Daphne had to turn away, but Harry could see her shoulders going up and down.

"It's alright," Daphne said when she turned back around. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Granger works, hard. She might not realize other people do, too, and don't feel the need to answer every question in every class and show disappointment when they aren't called upon. Being prepared is good. Showing off isn't. A friend, a good one who cared enough, might do her a big favor by pointing that out. In a NICE way, of course."

Harry looked at Daphne and nodded, slowly.

"Yes, one could," he said.

Harry and Daphne walked slowly along the path, the gravel crunching underfoot. Neither one felt compelled to speak, so neither did. Their walk came to an end at the great doors, much too soon, in Harry's estimation.

"This was nice," Harry said.

"It was," said Daphne. "I'll just…"

She gave a little gesture toward the door. Harry nodded and let her go ahead. He counted to sixty before he opened the postern and stepped inside.

"Potter!" said Draco Malfoy. "Just in time. You can watch your girlfriend learn a lesson about the penalty for keeping bad company."

Draco was right in front of him, Daphne about ten feet back with two thuggish boys in Slytherin robes, each with a fistful of Daphne's robe in hand. Harry assessed that Draco and the two toadies had seen him walking with Daphne and set up an ambush. Now that he had arrived, they'd carry out their plan, whatever that was. Judging by Draco's tone, Harry thought it must be a very distasteful plan.

Harry looked Draco in the eye.

"Let her go, Malfoy," he said, struggling to keep his voice even. "Then I'll let you take your best shot at me."

The two goons started to laugh.

"Scrawny little git," said one.

"Oh, you will? No," Draco began. He didn't get any further.

Harry had escaped a beating from his cousin Dudley one time by putting everything he had into one uppercut to Dudley's chin. Draco was so close Harry didn't double up his fist. He left his right hand open and sent the heel straight up to Draco's chin, which snapped back out of the way letting Harry's arm extend to its full length while teeth went flying and a suddenly-limp Draco Malfoy flopped backward onto the stone floor.

Harry looked down and saw that Draco held his wand in his right hand so he bent over and took it, straightening up with the wand tip pointed at the goon to his left.

"Can you find the way to the dispensary?" Harry asked. "I won't say anything as long as you Slytherins don't."

The two dropped their hands from Daphne's robe and hurried over to Draco. They got him to his feet and started for the staircase.

"My teef," Draco announced, "My teef feel funny."

Harry and Daphne watched them go then closed the short distance between them.

Daphne pinned Harry's arms to his sides and whispered, "Thank-you. Thank-you. Thank-you. Are you all right?"

"It's fine," Harry said, "And you're welcome. How are you? Did they hurt you? Can you go in and eat your dinner? Oh, and here."

Harry wiggled out of Daphne's bear hug, took a step back and handed over Malfoy's wand.

"It's yours," Daphne said. "That's the rule. You defeated Draco in fair battle, one-on-one, and disarmed him. The wand will be loyal to you if you want to take the time to work with it."

"I like mine," Harry said. "Besides, you can make him do what you want as a condition for getting it back. Make him promise to keep himself and those other two away from you. You and Tracey. I think he'd rather die than admit he had to make a promise to obey a girl as a condition for getting his own wand back."

"You're in the right house, Harry," Daphne said, "but your thinking is pure Slytherin."

She gave him a grin that was worldly beyond their years, an expression Harry hadn't seen before. He didn't know what it meant, but it was a good look for the plain, pale, skinny girl. Harry smiled back before making a subtle motion with his hand.

"Better get to dinner," he said, "You'll be missed. Someone might make the connection."

Once more Harry counted to sixty before following Daphne through the door.

Most of the school appeared to be seated as Harry crossed the hall to the Gryffindor table. He tried to look at the Slytherins out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't make out very much. If Harry really needed to see something he had to look straight ahead through his glasses, and that wasn't what he wanted to do right then. He found a seat next to Ron Weasley and across from Neville Longbottom.

"Better dig in, the elves have to keep dinner on schedule," Ron advised Harry, who began to fill his plate. He'd taken what he thought was an adequate amount of chicken and mashed potatoes and was about to commence eating when he looked over at the Slytherin table.

Daphne Greengrass took a bite of some salad greens and began chewing slowly. She was looking straight at Harry.

After that, Harry went out of his way every day to minimize contact with Daphne. He knew he got the wrong kind of attention from some of her housemates, so keeping his distance was a gesture of respect. Harry's instincts told him Daphne had come to Hogwarts for a witch's education, not to become an object of contention between student factions. Harry worked at keeping her out of his personal conflicts. Still, when they passed in the corridor between classes, both found it impossible to keep their eyes averted. They each thought the quick look, eye contact and shared smile was their own personal secret.

Their joint illusion imploded just before end of term. Harry was under observation in the infirmary following some harrowing adventure or other involving a rogue professor. Everything had happened in some forgotten rooms deep inside the castle. No one was supposed to know the details, but it was whispered that Harry Potter had had some kind of encounter with the Dark Lord Voldemort and was laid up in the infirmary.

Daphne waited until she could see Harry alone before appearing at his bedside. She peeked around the screen and stepped next to his bed. Harry was dozing so Daphne took a fruit basket off the seat of the side chair and sat down. She decided not to wake him. Maybe he needed rest more than anything. The flowers, candy and cards on every nearby surface said he'd had plenty of visitors.

Sitting at Harry's bedside, hands in her lap, watching over him while he slept, Daphne was unaware of her thoughts slipping out of her control. Daphne worked hard in all her classes. She had a disciplined mind, for eleven. She thought someday she might like a career as a scholar. Prior to that moment she had not considered seriously what she wanted for a personal life. She had assumed that someday she would live away from her parents but didn't put any detail in the picture. She looked at Harry's head on the pillow, his face at rest, the sheet going up and down with his breathing, eyeglasses on the bedside stand next to the water tumbler, and words formed, unbidden: My husband…

"No!" she told herself. What could she be thinking? She had to banish that thought from her mind. They were twelve! Not quite, actually.

The whole thing made her so uncomfortable she stood up, bumping the chair backwards as she rose. The scrape of the chair startled Harry, who awoke and sat up all at once. Harry started patting the bedside stand looking for his glasses, until Daphne took his free hand in her fingertips.

"Here," Daphne said, then, "Don't hex me, please, Harry, it's Daphne."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said, laying his wand down on the sheet. "I couldn't see it was you."

"May I?" Daphne asked, pointing at the chair.

"Of course," Harry said. "Help yourself to anything you want."

He waved his hand at the abundant treats around his bed.

"When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago," Daphne said. "I thought I'd…I thought we'd be better off if I waited until you were alone and we could talk. Otherwise, the people who don't want us to be friends…"

"I understand," Harry said. He was so happy Daphne had come up to the hospital ward to visit him he stopped paying attention to anything besides her.

"I hope you didn't mind me keeping my distance all year," Harry began. "I didn't want to, but I knew you would hear about it. Maybe, in the future, next year…"

Something started to thaw inside Daphne when Harry said 'future.' Embedded in the word was the thought that Harry Potter believed that he and Daphne Greengrass HAD a future. The shape and scope were undetermined, but there was a future of some kind for them, somehow. Even at not-quite-twelve, something resonates with that thought.

Harry heard footsteps and thought Madame Pomfrey must be coming to check on him when he saw the hand grasping the portable screen, until the screen was shoved aside to reveal not Madame Pomfrey, but Draco Malfoy along with his toadies Crabbe and Goyle.

"Merlin what a disgusting sight," Malfoy spat. "Pureblood Greengrass sitting at this half-blood's bedside. You should have died down there, Potter, saved us all a lot of trouble. Get up Greengrass, you're coming with us, you muggle-loving blood traitor."

Goyle stood closest to Daphne and reached out for her arm. Harry saw it happening and thought, "_Accio Daphne!"_while opening up _his_arm. Daphne seemed to hop the foot or two between herself and Harry, and he pulled her tight to himself. Goyle kept coming, still reaching, so Harry grabbed Goyle's wrist with his free hand and thought back to his battle with Professor Quirrell, trying to feel the same way he did when he saw Quirrell's face becoming charcoal under his touch.

Harry felt the roar in his ears as much as he heard it, the bloodlust of battle that displaced fear, took delight in the pain he was inflicting on his enemy, making the knave pay for presuming that he could touch Harry's friend with impunity.

"Ahh…ahh…AAAGHHHHH!" Goyle cried out, his eyes truly saucer-like.

Harry saw Draco reach inside his robes and put all of his power and focus into "_Accio wand!"_

He let Goyle go and opened up his hand, closing when Draco's wand hit his palm.

"Malfoy!" Harry said, nearly shouting while he pointed Malfoy's own wand at his nose. "Think about it. Didn't you promise…?"

"You…you…," Malfoy stammered, looking back and forth between them. It was unclear just which one was to be the recipient of his protest. Had he thought they had any reason to preserve his dignity in front of the other two hooligans?

"You did, Draco," said Daphne, the calm, witchly authority coming through. "Tell the truth. You promised you would leave me alone, and make sure Crabbe and Goyle did the same. I talked to you in private, then, as a favor. If you tell the truth now I'll ask Harry to give your wand back to you, again. Otherwise you'll just have to go home to Malfoy Manor and explain why you need a new one."

Draco Malfoy's face fell and his breath became ragged gasps. If they all weren't so young he might have been an old, old man in rales, anticipating the release of Death. Draco would have done any number of distasteful things rather than admit it, but that really wasn't among the available options, so he did the very last thing he wanted to do and confessed.

"Yes. I did," he said. He tried to put some defiance in his face but he had no ground at all to stand on.

"Okay," said Harry. "Daphne has immunity from your attentions, and you are honor-bound to keep her safe from these two. You are free to take your wand and return to the Slytherin common room."

Harry handed the wand back to Draco, even though it didn't really want to go, forcing Draco to take a firm grip just to keep it from flying back to Harry.

Harry kept his arm around Daphne's waist and she laid her hand on his shoulder as they watched the intruders walk down the ward all the way to the exit.

"Oh!" Harry said, realizing what he'd done and unwrapping his arm. "I'm so sorry, seriously!"

Daphne giggled, a very girlish giggle, and looked down at Harry.

"It's alright, really, Harry," she said. "You actually saved me, from something. Three of them, one of you. Kind of scary, but nice, too."

Daphne made a little gesture, raising her hand and turning her head slightly toward the door.

"I probably should…"

"Go? Be sure and take some of the goodies. You don't have to tell the Slytherins where you got it," Harry said.

"Not all the Slytherins hate you, Harry, or even dislike you," Daphne said, "It's just that the ones who do make it difficult for everyone else. Besides, you've already noticed the rivalry makes Gryffindor better, which makes Slytherin work harder to beat Gryffindor, so everyone benefits."

"That's pretty smart, Daphne. Did you come up with that yourself?"

"Yep, one night over the _Standard Book of Spells_. I was determined your chum Granger was not going to get the top score again," Daphne said.

"March. She started studying even harder," said Harry.

Daphne's eyes twinkled.

"You noticed!" she said as she filled her big bell sleeve. It looked to Harry like she was harvesting his chocolate frogs.

"Thanks in advance, from Tracey, too," she said.

Daphne paused, seemed to think something over, then leaned in close and pecked Harry on the cheek, before turning for the door without another word.

"Was that Miss Greengrass, Mr. Potter?"

Madame Pomfrey had just returned to the ward, apparently.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry. "She volunteered to help clean up some of this mess."

He gestured around his bed.

"Did she?" asked a smiling Madame Pomfrey. "What an impressive young witch."

Harry stood next to his trunk on the Hogsmeade station platform, waiting for an elf, when Daphne walked by with Tracey.

"You know the Slytherins always take the last car, I suppose," Daphne said. Harry got the distinct impression Tracey was functioning as a lookout.

"I've heard," Harry answered. Daphne pressed a little envelope into his hand.

"Got to go, for now," Daphne said. She squeezed his hand as she and Tracey started down the platform, or perhaps she just wanted to make sure he had a grip on the little envelope. When Harry got a chance to open it, he pulled out a small note card with 'Daphne Greengrass' in raised letters on the front leaf. Inside was a handwritten message: "Your owl will find me at Flinty Fields Farm, Devon. Happy Summer! D."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: _I own nothing! It all belongs to JK Rowling._

**Author's Note**: _Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read the first installment, and for the encouraging words from those who chose to leave a note. Now you're all Second-years!_

Year Two – A Very Close Call

Despite his best efforts not to do so, Harry Potter did his back to school shopping with both eyes peeled, searching the crowds of Diagon Alley shoppers for one face: Daphne Greengrass. He was enjoying his time with the Weasley family. He'd seen a lot of them recently, but he hadn't seen Daphne since they boarded the Hogwarts Express in June. They had exchanged short notes via owl more-or-less weekly all summer. Just newsy bits with almost nothing personal in them, a little scroll of parchment from Daphne was still enough to turn a tedious day with his relatives into something of a holiday for Harry.

Harry found it most invigorating to be back in a proper crowd of witches and wizards. He saw some familiar faces on the street and gave a wave to any Gryffindors he spotted. Harry just thought it would be nice to see Daphne, one of the few friends he had made outside of Gryffindor. He told himself that was all they were—friends.

Harry did not have a good time picking out his books. Once again he encountered Draco Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts, although this time Draco was not annoying anyone with a pinch to her bottom. He was just generally annoying, in almost any area one would choose to mention. The sneers embedded in his speech, particularly toward anyone Draco considered his inferior; the air of inherited privilege that imbued every gesture; the assumption that all of life's best parts were his until he deigned to parcel a few out to favored courtiers; Harry wondered how even the more low-geared Slytherins, Crabbe and Goyle, were able to stand him for more than a minute.

Harry's knowledge of the Hogwarts houses and the supposed attributes of the inhabitants had improved through observation at close quarters. Slytherin House was said to foster skill-building in those who set high goals and would let nothing deter their course. Harry could not fit Crabbe and Goyle, nor Pansy Parkinson, for that matter, into a collection of achievers. All three had achieved a position of toady to an obnoxious human being. Of course, Lucius Malfoy was supposed to be very rich. He was also known to work hard at magical world politics, the better to protect and nurture his fortune. That was Lucius. Draco did not appear to Harry to possess the industry to hoard a fortune, much less make his own contribution. Perhaps that was what Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson planned to do: help Draco spend up his inheritance.

After Lucius Malfoy's performance in Flourish and Blotts that day, Harry wondered how he got any traction in the political sphere. Harry had a twelve-year-old's knowledge and appreciation of politics but the politicians he had seen on the news programs never seemed to go out of their way to be obnoxious before the cameras. Lucius appeared to delight in making himself unwelcome in decent peoples' company, insulting Harry and every member of the Weasley family within earshot. Fair or not, Harry liked Draco even less after he had seen Lucius in action.

Daphne and Harry didn't cross paths in Diagon Alley that day. The Greengrass family strategy was to come to London the second day after the fall term book lists arrived at students' homes. The great crush of witches and wizards was gone and the picked-over stock in the shops would be replenished. Harry only learned of the Greengrass strategy years later. It sounded very practical to him and became the model for his own approach to similar situations, Christmas in particular.

When Harry and Ron dealt with the blocked barrier at King's Cross Station by borrowing Arthur Weasley's Anglia for their trip to Hogwarts, they set in train a series of downstream effects that kept them out of serious trouble for several days. They gained a large measure of respect from the wizards of Gryffindor for the elan they showed in improvising a solution to their immediate problem on the platform. Offsetting that was the unwelcome attention from Professor Snape who expressed openly his own preference for expelling and sending them straight home.

Harry caught glimpses of Daphne across classrooms or in the corridor. By some unspoken agreement they exchanged brief glances and half-smiles, apparently thinking they were putting something over on their schoolmates. Neither would admit to doing it, even to their closest friends.

Harry was very upset by Mr. Filch's threats after Mrs. Norris was petrified. Filch accused him of murder! Harry had experience being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but those had always involved someone or something doing damage to him. This time, all he was guilty of was stumbling upon Mrs. Norris, already in her petrified state. He still caught hell.

As soon as he had finished telling his story to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, for something approaching an infinite number of times, Harry took off for the owlery and a chat with Hedwig. He had just fed his owl the last treat from the stash in his bedside table when he saw movement in the shadows.

"It's me, Harry," said a voice.

Harry turned as the indistinct form moved into some light.

"Daphne!"

"Harry!"

"Oh, what are you doing here? You'll get in trouble if Professor Snape catches you with me," Harry protested.

"I can send my mum and dad a little note by owl, same as anyone else," Daphne said. "I can't control who'll show up when I'm doing it, can I? How are you, Harry? This year isn't getting off to a very good start for you, is it?"

"I keep telling myself it can only get better from here," Harry said, trying for a little humor. "I've missed our correspondence."

Where did that come from? Harry wondered what part of his brain pushed that comment to the front. He hoped Daphne wouldn't think it was too forward or excessively flirty of him. He began to compose an apology.

"Me too," Daphne said. She leaned against the sill of a window, pinching her lower lip and studying Harry before adding, "Let's think of a substitute for it. I don't want to go all year like this."

Harry's heart startled him with a couple of extra 'ba-Dump, ba-Dumps' at Daphne's statement.

"I—I don't want to, either," Harry managed. "Is your message away to Flinty Fields? You should probably go down first. I'll count to a hundred-twenty this time."

"How chivalrous," Daphne observed. "Yes, my message is gone, alas, so I have no further excuse to be here. Thanks for using the farm's name. I very seldom hear anyone say it at school."

"I think it is the best name for a farm, ever," Harry said, again scolding himself for being unnecessarily effusive.

Daphne didn't seem to mind as she got a smile, a big one this time, at Harry's comment.

"It is," she assured him as she stepped out onto the stair landing. "G'Night."

The brief encounter with Daphne gave Harry's spirits a huge and most welcome lift. He considered asking if she wanted to join Ron and Hermione as they threw themselves into researching the history of Hogwarts, the Chamber of Secrets, and monsters, looking for answers to all of the questions posed by the petrifications and the ominous writings on the castle walls. He decided not to, largely because Ron found it difficult to accept the presence of Slytherins anywhere close to him, and Hermione had a competitive streak as a scholar that Daphne had shown she shared.

Harry and Daphne exercised caution until the onset of winter, when they discovered, like many predecessors throughout Hogwarts' history, that foul weather has a way of dampening the ardor of snoops and busybodies for their avocation. Hogwarts' many nooks, voids and stairwells, often exposed to the elements, could be quite comfortable for a properly-clothed person out for some air. If not directly in the path of a north wind or under a sleet-filled cloud, two students could have a private conversation for thirty minutes or more, until the first one to become chilled called a halt.

"Are you going home for Christmas?" Daphne asked Harry. They were standing in what might have once been a guard post, a small room built into an exterior wall, just a Gothic arch and a bare, interior space perhaps five feet square.

"Not this year," Harry said. "My aunt and uncle won't be there."

"Oh, Harry, I'm very sorry to hear that," Daphne said. "Not home for Christmas with your family."

"Oh, it's not like that at all," Harry said. "The Dursleys don't like me. Don't make a secret of it, either. I'd much rather be at Hogwarts with whatever witches and wizards are around. Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course," said Daphne, pausing to look closely at Harry before she went on. "Have you figured out what's causing all this mayhem?"

"How…What do you know?" Harry stammered.

"I didn't know anything," Daphne explained, "Or, I didn't, up until now."

Harry had one thought: Slytherins! When would he learn?

"Please, Daphne, you don't want to get anywhere close to, well, whatever is going on," Harry protested. "No, I haven't figured it out. We—Ron and Hermione are curious, too—have read everything we can find. The chamber, if it's real, hasn't been in any of the documentation of the castle we've found. There are no credible descriptions. Nothing in the plans. Of course, those could be enchanted, or Salazar Slytherin could have just built something on his own using magic or elves or something else and the Clerk of the Works was unaware. Oh, in case you're wondering, I'm not the Heir of Slytherin."

"Hmm," Daphne said. "I was wondering, as a matter fact. Now I can go on to wonder about something else. What if you are, and you don't know? That would be a very Slytherin state of affairs, I'd say."

Harry stopped answering. He even stopped thinking. Daphne's observation had the effect of a good, unblocked blow to the forehead.

"Well," Harry said with the return of his wits. "That's something new to consider."

Both of them stood still under their heavy winter cloaks, separate trains of thought running on tracks that weren't exactly parallel.

"How's Tracey doing?" Harry asked, returning to something like regular consciousness.

"She likes her classes and most of the professors," said Daphne. "That Professor Lockhart, though, I don't know."

Harry nodded.

"I don't either," he said. "So many of the witches…"

Harry cut himself off when he realized he didn't really know much about Daphne's thoughts on Lockhart from what little she'd said.

"Fans," said Daphne. "He's got conventional good looks, dresses the part and he can write a decent adventure tale. Have you kept up with the readings?"

"Yes," Harry said. "They aren't hard."

"They aren't, are they? They would be nice for a little recreational reading on a rainy afternoon when you can't do anything else," Daphne said. "Not like the text you'd expect to be used for teaching young people practical defense. Well, anyway, are you getting cold? I'm glad we got to talk before break. Reserve some time for my briefing in January. I'll need to get caught up on all your progress."

Gilderoy Lockhart's stunt for St. Valentine's Day nearly cost Harry Daphne's friendship when Ginny Weasley surprised the entire school with her gushy card. Merlin! Even the Gryffindor wizards liked to drop references to 'Fresh-pickled toad' into discussions that had nothing at all to do with toads, pickled or otherwise. They were careful not to do it in front of Ginny, of course, who was not just the Weasley brothers' baby sister, but something like that year's Gryffindor sweetheart. Toward Harry, though, they were merciless.

Harry wouldn't have cared, one way or the other. He held dormitory banter in high esteem, as an art form. Dudley Dursley never expended a single calorie on the smallest effort to be friendly toward his cousin Harry, and Dudley had a reputation for going after any of their schoolmates who showed signs of wanting to. Harry truly enjoyed the conversation in the Gryffindor dorm, as long as it didn't get too personal. He hadn't sent the card, Ginny had. She hadn't made any of the Gryffindor wizards her metaphorical toad, that honor was Harry's alone.

Daphne, of course, did not see the phenomenon that was Ginny coming until she fell upon the Harry and Daphne nexus at full Category Five. Daphne's face, as they passed in the corridor, spent a few days in an aggressively neutral mode. Then she shifted to a skeptical look, sometimes incorporating a raised eyebrow. Harry broke first and began to think about how he could reach out.

School was suddenly tedious. Lockhart was treating Harry as a combination of stage prop and ventriloquist dummy. There was still no solution to the attacks and vandalism of the school. Harry needed to clear the air, at least enough for Daphne to feel like giving him a brief smile from across a shared classroom. He hoped that was still possible.

One evening during the last week in February, Harry climbed the stairs to the owlery, Hedwig perched on his fist. She hadn't had any delivery work for days and he was going to send her out to get some exercise.

"Hullo, Harry," said a familiar voice as Harry reached the landing.

He continued on into the turret room and saw Daphne finishing up tying a little scroll to an owl's leg. The owl took off through the window opening and Daphne turned around.

"Hullo, Hedwig," she said. "Did Mr. Toad bring you up here to see me?"

Daphne held out her arm and Hedwig hopped from Harry to Daphne.

"Here," Harry said, handing over a few little pieces of bacon he'd found. "She can have these. I want her to go hunting though. Can't spoil her appetite. How have you been?"

Daphne didn't answer, focusing on feeding Hedwig while keeping her own fingertips from being nipped. When the bacon was all gone she spoke to the owl, not Harry.

"You're very beautiful, Hedwig, and now you're going hunting and flying around and exercising and you'll come back even more beautiful, won't you? Make Mr. Toad bring you to see me more often."

Hedwig expressed her appreciation with a very nice hoot and launched.

"I didn't solicit any cards…" Harry tried.

"But you knew Ginny was crushing?"

"Not to that degree," Harry protested.

"Mmm," said Daphne in a most tentative, non-committal way. "Did you do anything at all to let Ginny know you were strictly neutral about her? No, according to your face. Harry, those are real feelings she is experiencing."

"She's eleven," Harry protested.

"She wishes you were hers. She told the whole school. If you want to go exploring in that direction then you and I need to be acquaintances, nothing more."

"I don't understand," Harry said. "I haven't done anything except be friends with Ron. The whole Weasley family has been very kind to me. I don't get any of this."

"All right, then," said Daphne, "Ginny clearly has a crush on you. Her feelings are real, even if she is just eleven. You and I have been friends, across Hogwarts houses and distance, for over a year. We do things like this so we can talk. I enjoy that. You must, too, or you wouldn't be here. A few people besides you and me know a bit about this, so, if tongues wag, as they do, Ginny will find out, maybe from one of the malicious gossips who like doing that, embellishing, you know? Then what?"

Harry stood there, thinking.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone," he said.

"I know," said Daphne.

"I like our talks," Harry said. "They're useful."

"Useful?" exclaimed Daphne. "Harry, you have such a way with words."

"Not…wait…I mean…You help me think things through. You see things I don't. You have a different way of…maybe it's Slytherin versus Gryffindor?"

"The word you want is perspective," Daphne said. "My perspective is different from yours."

"I think so," said Harry, "Are you going to tell me what that means?"

"Point of view," said Daphne. "We could use either one. I see things from my perspective, or point of view, and hearing about my perspective helps you see things differently."

"Perspective. Perspective. Perspective," Harry repeated. "I need to remember that."

"Can you deal with Ginny? Because I won't be able to fill the role of your chum if Ginny is going to be your actual girlfriend, for several reasons."

"Can I still be friends with Hermione?" Harry asked, "Because she's a girl, too."

"Of course, that's not going anywhere," said Daphne, with just a hint of a dismissive snort.

"That obvious?"

"Yes. Don't ask how I know. I'll keep working on it and tell you someday, if you're still curious by the time I figure it out."

Harry turned to the window opening and looked out.

"I like this," Harry said, second-guessing himself as usual, thinking he might have been too forward. "I don't want it to stop. I'll try to come up with a way to ask Ginny to not think of me as boyfriend material. However that is done."

"Harry, someone in your position among wizards will probably have to do it on a fairly regular basis. You'd better make up your mind, right now, to become good at it," said Daphne.

"Okay, I'll think of something," Harry said. "I, uh, this, oh…"

Harry had thoughts he didn't have words for.

"Harry, do you see how, in trying not to hurt anyone, you will find yourself hurting several people?" said Daphne. "The longer you wait, the more it will hurt. Now, I find these talks with you to be useful, too, for several reasons. I'm not afraid of saying so. You don't need to be, either, at least not on my account."

They looked one another in the eye. Neither one took a step forward, but neither one wanted to break contact.

"I'll just get started," Daphne whispered finally, nodding toward the opening to the stair. Even then she didn't look away from Harry.

"Look where you're going," said Harry. "I want to do this again."

By late spring Harry and friends were making progress on the mystery. Hermione was a scholar, right to the end, discovering the solution to the monster question just before getting petrified. Harry and Myrtle put their heads together and found the opening to the chamber, concealed within a plumbing fixture. The phony Gilderoy Lockhart revealed his own complete lack of qualifications, along with a dearth of fighting spirit, when he attempted to use Ron's damaged wand and ended up self-obliviating. Madame Pomfrey treated Lockhart right after the incident and wrote up a short report that was published in one of the healers' journals. Lockhart did end up making some real history, at last, because his was one of just a handful of cases of self-obliviation since the spell had been developed sometime in the 900's.

Harry had been a model of propriety around Ginny ever since his talk with Daphne. He still hadn't formulated a way to have a serious talk with her by the time he had to save her from Tom Riddle and the basilisk. As soon as Dumbledore was through with them, Madame Pomfrey demanded access to the four who had come out of the chamber. Harry didn't take long, as the phoenix tears had counteracted the effects of the basilisk venom and fixed a number of other little quirks and conditions that had been active just under the threshold of manifestation.

Harry was sitting in a chair, feeling great but officially under observation, when Daphne and Tracey arrived on the ward. Both nodded at Harry but walked directly to Ginny's bed. After asking how she was doing, giving her a get-well card signed by the two of them, and advising her to take it easy, they asked about the students who'd been petrified and learned they would soon be getting the mandrake potion and were expected to make a full recovery. Tracey took a moment to speak to Ron, then Professor Lockhart, but Daphne crossed the ward to where Harry sat. She pulled a chair over and sat down.

"You sorted it out," she declared.

"With a lot of help," Harry replied, "Including yours, if I may say so."

Daphne blushed a little and managed to get out some modest protests, which got some laughs from Harry.

"Summer plans?" Harry asked. "It's almost here."

"The pleasures of Flinty Fields await," Daphne said. "I wish you could see it."

"I have a feeling the time will come," Harry said. "Anyway, I need to learn patience."

"Plainspoken and eloquent all in one package," said Daphne. "Also a commendable display of your improving self-knowledge."

She looked around the ward.

"Too many people. I'll be patient, too."

Daphne took her leave with a brief squeeze of Harry's hand. A peck on the cheek might have looked odd between the twelve-year-olds. Harry watched her walk with Tracey until the great door closed behind them. He looked over at Ginny and was sorry he did.

Harry didn't get a chance to talk to Ginny until just before everyone left for summer break.

"How are you?" Harry began.

"Lots better, thanks," Ginny said.

"Good. Listen, I need to tell you something, about me," said Harry.

"That's fine," said Ginny. "You and Daphne are seeing each other, aren't you? I saw how you two looked when she came to visit us."

"Oh, I don't think we can be seeing one another, in that way, but, yes, we do like talking. We're still in school, not even third year, I don't know how people can, date or see each other. I wouldn't even know how to go about it."

Ginny started to laugh at Harry's discomfort.

"Did I embarrass you?" she asked.

"What, the card? The Gryffindors wouldn't leave me alone. I put it down to jealousy. But, I don't think it is possible to have a girlfriend at our age."

"Okay," said Ginny. "I think I understand. Harry Potter saved my life. Me. Maybe I shouldn't be greedy."

Harry and Daphne had that one piece of unfinished business. As soon as Harry could, he sent Hedwig to Flinty Fields Farm with a note for Daphne. All it said was,

"Done."


	3. Chapter 3

**Acknowledgement:** _I own nothing! It's all JKR._

**Author's Note**: _Thanks for the positive feedback for these shorts._

Year Three

There Is No Such Thing As Too Much Magic

Harry Potter discovered the joys of Fortescue's outdoor tables on the first day of bachelorhood following his ignominious departure from Little Whinging. He still wasn't sure he hadn't completely ruined his future, despite Minister Fudge's assurances that he wouldn't be suffering any official sanctions. The inflating of Aunt Marge and her subsequent taking to the air like a balloon was purely accidental. Besides, her own inability to be civil was the cause of her predicament. She needed to be more careful around young wizards. If she couldn't bring herself to do that, perhaps she should stay well clear in the future. Thus did Fudge assure Harry.

Harry loved Diagon Alley. Minister Fudge gave him permission to leave the Leaky Cauldron as long as he stayed within Magical London's main shopping street. That was fine with Harry. On the morning after his liberation he went out after breakfast with Newt Scamander's book, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, looking for a comfortable place to sit down, read a bit, and observe the magical passing parade. Fortescue's wasn't yet open for the day but the tables and chairs were there. Harry didn't see anyone inside the shop so he chose a spot with a good view and sat down.

Newt Scamander was a scrupulous documentarian of magical wildlife, but his prose read more like an adventure tale than a scientific paper. Harry became so caught up in Scamander's descriptions of the animals, their magical characteristics, native magical environments and their care and feeding, should a witch or wizard allow one into their domestic arrangements, that he didn't notice he had a visitor.

"Harry," said Mr. Fortescue as he walked up to the sidewalk seating area. He was drawing his wand, which Harry hoped was for unlocking the door and not to hex him for trespassing.

"Mr. Fortescue!" Harry said, closing the Scamander and dropping it on the table. "I'm sorry, there wasn't anyone around to ask, so I took a seat…"

"Well, I should hope so," said Mr. Fortescue exclaimed. "The goblins have vaults, I have an ice cream shop. How are you? What are you doing here, for that matter? Don't you live with your relatives in Surrey?"

Harry sighed. He had no reason to be reticent with Mr. Fortescue, so he stood, picked up his book and offered to help open for the day. Harry followed his host around, scrubbing table tops, dusting and placing the chairs just so, checking and filling the napkin holders while he told the whole story of the Dursley's dinner with Aunt Marge, his departure from Little Whinging, the Knight Bus, his welcome at the Leaky Cauldron and the encounter with Minister Fudge.

"So I'll stay at the Leaky Cauldron until it's time to go to Hogwarts," Harry concluded. The teapot whistled under the encouragement of Mr. Fortescue's boiling charm.

"Black, green, oolong?" asked Mr. Fortescue. "Lapsang Soochong? Green Matcha?"

"Oh, green, I guess," Harry said. "Thank-you very much, Mr. Fortescue. I didn't come to freeload."

"Nonsense, Harry," said Fortescue. "Running a little shop in Diagon Alley was my life's ambition, and do you know why? I crave the company. Humanity, or at least the magical part of it, passes through this little space, everyone and every magical thing, if I'm patient. I get to study the whole of magical life and never leave my shop. Have you ever seen one of those muggle televisor sets?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Believe me, Harry, spending a day here is a lot more interesting than spending a day in front of one of those."

Harry thought Fortescue's observation was both wise and hilarious. For the rest of his stay in Diagon Alley Harry showed up every morning to help Mr. Fortescue put the shop in order for opening of business. Their conversations were wide-ranging and informative. Fortescue was full of facts and history about witches, wizards and magical current events, all based on his years in business in Diagon Alley. He remembered James and Lily Potter well, having served them both ice cream when they were students at Hogwarts, then when they stopped by on dates during their courtship, then as young marrieds with Baby Harry in arms.

"Lily sat there where you are now, with you on her lap, and James kept letting you have little licks of vanilla and Lily was furious. You were too young to officially eat ice cream, of course, and your mother didn't look forward to the aftereffects. Not that I ever heard there were any," Fortescue concluded.

"Oh, thanks for telling me that," Harry said. "Maybe that's why I'm such a fan of ice cream."

The population of Hogwarts students in Diagon Alley increased steadily as beginning of term got closer. Harry often worked with Mr. Fortescue from eight-thirty until ten, when the shop officially opened for business, then he'd stroll Diagon Alley, taking his time getting back to the Leaky Cauldron, having lunch, then heading back to Fortescue's for something sweet. He sat outside, eating his ice cream just fast enough to stay ahead of a complete meltdown. He was finishing up a small cup of lemon-vanilla topped with shredded coconut when a pair of skinny legs encased in blue jeans entered his field of vision. Harry looked from the jeans up past the collar of an emerald green polo shirt to the familiar face of Daphne Greengrass.

"Daphne!" he said, nearly knocking his chair over when he stood and pushed back with his calves.

"Harry," said Daphne. "Careful. I'm not going anywhere. Harry, I'd like you to meet my family. Mum, Dad, Astoria, this is Harry Potter. Harry is in my year at Hogwarts. Harry, my father Hugh Greengrass, and my mother, Emma Greengrass. This is my sister Astoria, who will be coming with us in September for her first year."

"Sir, ma'am," Harry said as they all shook hands. "Will you join me? Please?"

Harry spread his hands out, indicating the open seats. Harry remained standing as the Greengrass family found their places.

"Pot of tea?" Harry asked. "Cup of ice cream?"

Daphne and her parents went back and forth, yes and no, ice cream and no tea, tea and no ice cream. Astoria sat down and looked around at everything and nothing in particular. Harry needed a solution.

"May I recommend what I was having? I assure you it is delicious. If you like ice cream, that is."

Daphne looked a little distressed at the dithering. She caught Harry's attention and nodded 'Yes.'

Harry went inside the shop, coming back after a minute or two carrying a tray with four cups of the lemon-vanilla and coconut sprinkles.

"Tea is coming," Harry said as he pulled a free chair over from a nearby table.

"Are you in Slytherin House, too, Harry?" asked Emma Greengrass.

"No, ma'am," Harry said. "I'm in Gryffindor."

"Mum, remember, we talked…" Daphne muttered, but Emma didn't respond.

"Mr. Greengrass and I were in Slytherin, so we were very pleased when Daphne was sorted into our house," Emma said.

"Which is only right," Harry said, trying to generate some good will. "No one could argue with the results."

He panned across the Greengrass family like a camera, stopping on Daphne and giving her a grin. Hugo looked at his wife, who looked back. Something passed between them, but Harry couldn't read their faces. Hugh turned to his ice cream, took a little on his spoon and looked back at Harry.

"You play quidditch, I think," Hugh declared. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry. "Seeker."

"Since first year," Daphne said. "Harry was the youngest in school history."

"Hugh played, for Slytherin, of course," said Emma.

"Emma, no old, broken-down athlete talk, please," Hugh said, the swelling of his chest totally betraying his residual feelings for sport, despite the pro forma demurral.

"What position?" Harry asked, thinking Daphne's parents had just gotten a good deal more interesting.

"Ah, Seeker," said Hugh. Something said he was hesitant to go further.

Harry's subconscious figured it out.

"Oh," he said. "You didn't play for Slytherin when my dad played for Gryffindor, by any chance?"

Hugh looked across the table at Harry's wide-open, smiling face, and his own changed completely, matching Harry's.

"Yes, Harry, James and I went at it a time or two," Hugh said.

Harry just rapped the table lightly with the knuckles of his closed fist and nodded at Hugh, two brother knights in the timeless game. He glanced at Emma Greengrass but she was staring straight ahead. She seemed to Harry like she was holding her neutral look through a great effort of will. Emma looked down at her ice cream and scooped a little onto her spoon.

The tea and cups arrived and Daphne reached for the pot as Harry put cups with saucers and handed them around the table. Daphne was still very slim and almost frail-looking but she handled the pot of tea as if it were weightless.

"Mr. Greengrass, I was in my first year at Hogwarts when I learned my father had played quidditch. My muggle relatives don't even know what quidditch is, so no one ever told me. If I've ever met anyone who played when he did, I'm not aware of it. So, I guess, whenever you feel you'd like talking about your matches, I'd like to listen," Harry said, trying very hard not to sound pushy.

The small talk went on as the level of tea dropped in the cups, not all of it concerning quidditch. Harry noticed the other members of the Greengrass family seemed to keep an eye on Emma, not in any obvious way, but still noticeable.

"Hugh, we need to finish up and get the girls' shopping done or we'll never get back," Emma said, suddenly, cutting off her husband's response to some comment of Harry's.

Obedient Hugh stood and started to reach inside his jacket. Harry saw a bulging pocket with a button closure sewn into the lining and raised his hand.

"No, please, I've settled up with Mr. Fortescue," Harry said. "As long as you promise to get together again so we can talk quidditch?"

Hugh Greengrass laughed out loud.

"Of course, at our earliest opportunity!" he said. "Girls, thank-you's?"

Harry was glad Daphne and Astoria kept the rhetoric reasonable. Seeing the two witches' smiles was more than sufficient. Emma Greengrass even gave a little twitch with the corners of her mouth as she took her leave.

The next time Harry saw Daphne was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. He'd expected to see her on the Hogwarts Express, but the trip was interrupted by dementors looking for Sirius Black, resulting in a very troubling experience for Harry, complete with a blackout. Harry, Ron and Hermione made the acquaintance of Professor Remus Lupin during the trip. It was Professor Lupin who cast the patronus that drove the dementor back from Harry. The thought of seeking out Daphne Greengrass never entered Harry's mind after the dementors' departure.

Harry wasn't surprised when Astoria Greengrass was sorted into Slytherin House that evening. It ran in the family, like Gryffindor did in his, and Ron's. Daphne would be able to keep an eye on Astoria. Harry wondered if he'd have to get between another Greengrass and Draco Malfoy's crew. He filed the thought in "When and If the Time Comes" and put it out of his mind.

Professor Lupin was just as helpful to his Defense classes as he had been to Harry on the train. For the first time since they had arrived as first-years, Harry's classmates looked forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin knew his material and he had a knack for teaching through fun and interesting practical exercises. Harry even negotiated a tutorial and learned how to cast a patronus. Working with Professor Lupin made it seem easy, even though Harry knew that a relatively small percentage of wizards ever got skilled enough to reliably cast a corporeal patronus.

Unfortunately, Sirius Black's whereabouts remained unresolved, in turn keeping Hogwarts in something like a state of siege. Harry was outside, listening to Hagrid's lecture on flobberworms when Daphne walked up beside him. There were Slytherins and Gryffindors all around them, so Daphne's positioning didn't draw a lot of unwanted attention.

"Being careful?" she asked, waiting respectfully for a pause in Hagrid's lecture.

Harry just turned his head slightly and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you think?"

"Of course you are!" said Daphne. She waited for another pause. "Just making conversation."

Hermione stood on Harry's other side, next to Ron. She looked straight ahead, giving every appearance she wasn't eavesdropping on the others.

Harry leaned a few inches until his shoulder just touched Daphne, then shifted back.

"Thanks, seriously," he said, just above a whisper.

Buckbeak got both himself and Hagrid in trouble that autumn when he struck Draco Malfoy on the arm and put him in the hospital wing. Lucius Malfoy used the injury to generate political problems for Dumbledore and kept the controversy going for months. Harry spent a fair amount of time hanging out in the owlery with Hedwig. The great snowy owl had a calming effect on Harry, for reasons he didn't really understand. Harry found he liked thinking through his knottier problems in Hedwig's presence.

Of course, Daphne knew if she needed to send something out by owl there was always a fair chance she'd find Harry with Hedwig, so she didn't hesitate to visit the owlery regularly, always taking a good supply of owl treats.

"Been to Hogsmeade?"

Daphne announced her presence with the cheeky question once she was sure she and Harry were alone. Daphne was one of a handful of students who knew Harry did not have his legal guardian's permission to go to Hogsmeade. Harry stood still, staring out at snow-covered Scotland.

"Not officially, no," Harry said as he turned from the window. "Do you have suspicions of some sort? Well-founded suspicions?"

"Oh, one does hear…little things," was all Daphne would say. She pulled out a bag and gave Hedwig a piece of bacon, then moved on to the other owls. They knew Daphne from earlier visits and were accustomed to getting treats from her.

Harry didn't respond. Instead he stared out the opening in the tower wall, working over the puzzle of how Daphne had knowledge of his surreptitious visits to Hogsmeade. Did she know about the underground passages or the Marauders' Map? Harry resolved again to be more careful about his personal security. If he didn't pay attention he could do something that would endanger Daphne or another of his friends. If she had knowledge of actual misbehavior, she might be obliged by rule to report him or face discipline herself.

"Harry, you are having much too much fun, getting in trouble, taking risks you don't need to take," Daphne said, almost scolding. It was plain from the way the words came out that she had been holding them in. "Sorry, but you needed to hear that, so someone needed to say it. No one else did, so I…

"I have heard it said, here and there," Harry answered. "Some people included recollections of my father. Made comparisons. I didn't like that very much."

"Well, I didn't know your father, so you won't hear any of that from me, will you?" asked Daphne. "I do…I am concerned at times, for you, and I'm not alone."

Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Daphne nearly said, "I do care about you."

Harry knew it, like he knew his name was Harry Potter. He could hear it in her voice, before she caught herself and backtracked. It was all he could do not to ask her to say it again, he wanted to hear it all straight from Daphne. The realization came in a flash, with such force behind it he didn't know if he thought it or felt it. With no memory of his mother or father, Harry also had no memory of anyone, adult or contemporary, confessing they harbored affectionate feelings toward him. Discounting, of course, Ginny Weasley's Valentine's Day greeting of the previous year.

"I feel the same way, about you," Harry said, holding Daphne's eyes with his own. He tried to convey the thought Daphne'd left unvoiced. Caring. Daphne straightened up and squared her shoulders, looking into Harry's eyes, reading them. She took a step toward Harry and leaned against the sill upon which he semi-sat. Their hands were touching and Daphne's little finger slid up onto the back of Harry's and rested, feather-light. Neither said anything as they watched the owls groom themselves on their perches, owls leaving to go hunt, owls returning with a mouse or some other prey.

"Dad mentioned you in a couple of his letters," Daphne muttered. "You owe him some quidditch talk."

"I'd like that," Harry said. "Help me find an opportunity."

"I'm going to have to get back downstairs," she said. "Defense tomorrow. Some of us aren't naturals."

"Be patient. Open up and let it come to you. You're going to be a powerful, powerful witch," said Harry.

"How do you know?"

"I'll tell you just as soon as I figure it out," Harry said.

Daphne's words were prophetic, naturally. Spring was well along at Hogwarts when the course of several lives joined in the Shrieking Shack. With Professor Lupin's help, Harry was able to keep Severus Snape at bay long enough for Sirius to force Peter Pettigrew to confess his crimes. The quality of outcomes was mixed. Still not exonerated, Sirius was free to roam Britain with Buckbeak, two fugitives on the run. Professor Snape manipulated Remus Lupin into an untenable position resulting in Lupin's resignation from Hogwarts. Former Professor Lupin did his best to lighten Harry's load, giving him back the Marauders' Map on the day of his departure.

Harry would have gladly let him keep the map awhile longer if that could have bought a little more time for Lupin. Harry'd figured out who the mapmakers were. That knowledge just generated more questions. Werewolf or not, how did a wizard as skilled as Remus Lupin allow himself to live in such a penurious condition if he had the imagination and magical skills, as a schoolboy, to participate in making the enchanted map? For that matter, how did Sirius, Remus and James get outmaneuvered by Pettigrew, who was and remained a sniveling hanger-on? Those would be subjects for hours and hours of reflection over the years as Harry teased the facts this way and that, perpetually looking for the lessons in the lives of his parents and the people in their circle.

Hermione sought Harry out in the Gryffindor common room that evening. Ron stood just behind her.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice just audible. "Let's see if we can outwait the others."

They were able to outwait the others, as it happened, and took up seating before the dying fire.

"Dementors, Harry, again," Hermione began. She didn't bother with an introduction to her topic.

"I didn't ask for any of this," Harry began.

"We know," said Ron.

"The thing is, Harry, someone sent dementors after you. At the least they didn't have any restraints to keep them from killing you as an unfortunate bystander to the Sirius Black operation. This is serious," said Hermione, summing up.

Gallows humor got to them all.

"Don't mean to make light…" Harry tried.

"…Of something so serious," Ron agreed, trying and failing to conquer his laughter once again.

Hermione turned on her best glare.

"MY POINT," Hermione began again, "Is we are not having a normal school experience. There is a machine at work. I can feel it. You will, too, if you don't already. If we stick together we might get out of it alive. Otherwise we won't stand a chance."

Hermione finally succeeded in getting Harry's attention.

"Hermione's right," Harry said. "The machine. It seems like I have felt it my entire life, in the background. It started working in earnest first year. That chessboard. I can't even guess how many times I've dreamt we were all back on the chessboard. White has a new opening every time, one we haven't seen. Then here we go again."

Ron's face was blank, his ruddy complexion waxen, nearly gray.

"Harry, that could be a clue," he said. "I dream about that board, too."

They both looked at Hermione.

"I don't even like Wizard's Chess," she said.

"But do you dream about it?" Ron demanded.

"I just thought it was reliving an old trauma," said Hermione.

"So you do," Ron said, stating it as settled fact.

"Yes!" Hermione hissed. "I don't like the game and I'm back there and pieces are getting broken and it is all out of my control. I really don't like feeling everything is out of my control."

Everyone paused to let their revelations settle down a bit.

"I submit," said Harry, "We are caught up in something. Something that is getting worked out in this school. Whatever it is, it's relentless, and it is going to be us, or it. I will do the best I can for you. I already know you will do the best you can for me."

The quiet was profound, meditative.

"We need our rest," Harry said, ending the discussion.

A few days later, Daphne and Tracey found Harry, Ron and Hermione in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

"May we?" asked unfailingly polite Tracey, sticking just her head through the door.

She hadn't really needed to ask, that was just Tracey.

"We needed a little relief from that car," said Daphne, sitting down. Harry got up and closed the blinds.

"Don't want the wrong Slytherins walking by, getting ideas," he said, looking Daphne and Tracey in the eye. Neither objected.

Ron leaned his back against the corner where the seat met the side wall of the car, crossing his arms and legs. Hermione looked at him but didn't say anything.

"What a year," said Tracey.

"Maybe we can only go up from here," suggested Harry.

"You don't believe that," said Tracey. "Dark is waxing. The susceptible wizards are being seduced, whole families at a time. I pulled out the archived Prophets from back then. He cultivated purebloods, and half-bloods who wanted to climb the social ladder, and used them to form the core of his forces. There are memoirs by people who were on the fringes. The most fanatical are dead, or in Azkaban, of course. If they're free, the old Death Eaters are hosting each other at dinner, traveling together. They're getting ready, for something."

"You know a lot about it, Davis," barked Ron. "Too much, if you ask me."

Harry raised his hand.

"Let's listen, Ron," he said. "Tracey sees a side that is closed to us. We don't know what's going on, either. Opening moves. We haven't seen these opening moves before."

Tracey stiffened, looking over at Harry.

"Your chess reference is very unexpected, Harry," said Tracey. "I didn't know you played chess, although Ron is well-known. Respected, as a Wizard's Chess player."

Hermione got a bit straighter.

"Any particular reason that comes to mind?" Tracey asked. Her eyes were frozen onto Harry's.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. Ron blew a little breath out between his pursed lips and gave his head a slight shake.

Harry's mind was racing. What did Tracey mean? Were she and Daphne dreaming of chess boards? Were they reporting agents for some unknown entity studying Harry, Ron and Hermione? Did someone have the ability to listen to conversations in the Gryffindor common room? He made up his mind and decided to go ahead.

"We agree something is coming," Harry began. "The old business isn't settled. So many unknowns. I fear wizarding kind may be forced to choose a side. No middle ground for gray."

Harry gave everyone a little time with their own thoughts before going ahead.

"We've all three dreamt of chess boards. Is that a familiar dream?"

Tracey and Daphne didn't have to answer because it was apparent from their reaction that it was.

"What do you three think it means?" asked Daphne.

"No idea," said Hermione. "We need to use every day we're given to get ready, though. If we aren't someplace where we're authorized to use magic, we can hit the books."

Ron groaned earning a firm 'Shush' from Hermione.

"True," said Daphne. "How does that old saying go?"

Tracey looked around the compartment.

"Do you mean, 'There is no such thing as too much magic?'"


	4. Chapter 4

**Acknowledgment: **The author makes no claim to anything since the characters and much of the plots within come directly from Harry Potter. Thanks to JK Rowling!

**Author's Note**: Thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed or left short review notes. Comments are always appreciated.

**Year Four**

**Return of the Dark**

"This is a very serious contest, Harry. Students have died in the past. Don't treat it like schoolboy wizard fun," said Daphne Greengrass.

Harry and Daphne weren't exactly hiding their little chat, but neither were they advertising it. The two cowled figures walking around Hogwarts' Black Lake were well-screened from the castle most of the time by the mist that drifted down from some low-hanging clouds. At the same time, by fourteen a young witch or wizard knew there were numerous spells and charms that could be used in many different ways to penetrate occlusions and magnify muffled voices. Some magicals were masters of legilimency, giving them direct access to another's thoughts and memories, so no conversation could be considered completely confidential. They chose their words with care.

"I KNOW, Daphne. Please believe me-I didn't put my name in the goblet," Harry said.

"You don't have to say it again," Daphne replied, her tone a bit tight. "I take you at your word. You've never given me a reason not to. It wasn't you. It wasn't serendipity, do you think?"

"Seren…What did you say?"

"Serendipity. Whimsy. Something that's just a random occurrence, without anyone planning it," said Daphne.

"Do you sit down and read the dictionary?" asked Harry.

"What does that have to do with what we're talking about?" Daphne flared, just a little, at Harry's question.

"You know all of these words, big ones that I have no memory of even hearing, much less knowing the meaning," said Harry. "I have to know before we go any further. So, do you? Read the dictionary?"

Daphne turned her head to look at Harry.

"Yes," she said. "I find it relaxes me when I'm stressed. Do you think the slip of parchment with your name came out of that goblet by accident? Dumbledore's spell threw Fred and George Weasley straight out of the ring despite their transformations. What entity overcame the security measures of the Ministry for Magic and Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore?"

"_Force majeure_," said Harry.

"Ha! So, you know some unusual words, too, Mr. Potter," said Daphne. "Here's my theory: Someone at Hogwarts put that slip in the urn, but maybe they didn't use conventional means. Have you considered that? We've all been thinking a person with a bit of parchment walked up and dropped it in, then we rack our brains trying to come up with a way they could beat the security. Suppose someone, a highly-skilled witch or wizard, certainly, charmed that parchment into existence right in the goblet? Or, the goblet could have arrived at Hogwarts with the parchment already inside. I don't remember Dumbledore and the others performing a public inspection to demonstrate there was nothing inside the thing, do you? Barty Crouch didn't even look. Everyone was dazzled by the ceremony. All that drama, and pretty flames! So much for security."

"The cup chose the champions," Harry mused. "From all the entrants from the three schools. If it could be charmed or enchanted to select a fourth champion, an illegal, underage…"

"Then why couldn't it have been compromised from the very beginning?" Daphne finished.

"True. And then, why?" asked Harry.

Daphne just nodded from inside her hood.

They stepped over some roots that broke the surface in their path.

"Careful," Daphne said.

They had been walking with folded hands clasped inside the bell sleeves of their robes. Daphne let go and put her arm through Harry's before rejoining her hands.

"Mind?"

"Ahh…" said Harry. "No. Never."

He wondered if he'd let his mouth run one word too far, then made a mental note to work on that unfortunate trait.

"Why?" repeated Daphne. She switched direction abruptly, trusting Harry to keep up with her mercurial mind. "What does Ron Weasley think?"

"Wants to know how I did it. Thinks I just wanted in the tournament. Doesn't admit another possibility," said Harry. His voice betrayed his disappointment in Ron for not believing him.

"He knows you as well as anyone at Hogwarts and he can't conceive of another explanation, so, by extension, we can expect nine out of ten students think the same," Daphne said. "That's a working hypothesis, mine, at least, for now. Was that what they wanted in the end? Does the plotter need to discredit you for some reason?"

"It's possible but doesn't that seem to you to be going to a great deal of trouble for a little bad publicity?" asked Harry.

"Trouble, expense, risk," said Daphne. "Discovery would result in a grievous penalty. Prison, at the very least."

That got Harry's attention.

"You're thinking this is all plotted out, someone decided to put on the tournament to get to me?"

"Not necessarily," said Daphne. "Although it could be one possibility. Another is the tournament independently gave them the idea and an opportunity for maneuvering you into a vulnerable position for some other purpose. Not a good purpose, certainly. I would put death or serious injury at the top of the list, but that is still speculation."

"Oh," Harry said. "That is encouraging."

"Don't take it the wrong way, please," said Daphne.

"There is a right way to take it?" asked Harry. Something in his voice must have conveyed some annoyance.

Daphne kept silent until the path put a huge sycamore trunk between them and the castle. She stopped walking. Harry didn't notice and kept on until Daphne's arm pulled him back. Daphne backed Harry into the tree trunk. She pushed her cowl back before taking Harry's in both hands and using it to pull his face to her. Daphne kept the pressure on until her lips were pressed against Harry's, then she let go and wrapped both arms around his neck.

"Harry," Daphne said letting a little space come between them, "You will need all your power, all your skill, all of your friends, and most of all, all of your wits about you."

Daphne moved her lips next to Harry's ear and began to whisper.

"I know you didn't put your name in the goblet and I know you didn't want this. It was done to you. Be careful. Question everything. Question me and my motivation for being close to you, look at everything I do and ask why. Make it a habit you apply to everything and everyone. This will sound like divination class but I feel Dark Magic in this. It's here, I'm convinced. You're a rational person, it's one of your strengths. Still…"

"I have felt something so alien," Harry said.

"Yes, it is alien to your nature. That's the alarm. We will feel it until this is finished," Daphne said. Harry felt her 'WE' as much as he heard it and something churned inside.

"Stay clear of me," he said. "Well clear. I can't have…"

"No," said Daphne.

"Please?" Harry tried.

"You need more than Hermione and your fickle chum looking out for you. I'll be discreet. You don't even need to see me. Now, shall we use this squall to get back inside?"

They went back using an obscure entrance that also had the advantage of being some distance from convenient routes to and from the house common rooms. The vestibule just inside was lit by one oil lamp and had no other sight lines. It was no surprise they were alone after they closed the exterior door. Harry held onto Daphne's sleeve this time. She turned and he looked at her face. She gave him a smile.

"Well?" she said, before she closed her eyes.

Daphne was true to her word. She gave Harry only the quickest glances and little half-smiles when she saw him in the corridors between classes. He stopped hoping to see Daphne when he went to the owlery. It wasn't like her to stop writing home so he had to assume she'd figured out when to go so she wouldn't meet him there. Hedwig occasionally showed up at lunch with some mail. As soon as the Yule Ball was announced Harry got a note. "Not me!" was all it said, besides the 'D' for a signature. Just before Christmas Hedwig brought him an envelope with a little card inside. When he opened the card there was an ink drawing of a boxed present with a bow. The only message was an elaborate monogram within the drawing of the gift tag, 'FFF' enclosed in miles of loops and curlicues. Harry stared and stared, finally cracking Daphne's code as he waited for sleep—Flinty Fields Farm.

Harry missed Daphne's counsel while she was keeping her distance from him. He didn't have time to miss the emerging romantic aspects of their friendship. Lessons took up most of Harry's time, as was true of the other champions. The rest always seemed to be connected to the tournament, somehow.

Harry didn't think he'd be very good company, even if he'd had the time. He experienced a growing anger following the second task. The underwater event was inherently dangerous, life-threatening, to be truthful. Harry remembered Daphne's advice on their walk. He questioned the Ministry's assurance that no student would actually be at risk. How could they know that? Spells went wrong all the time. Students in a suspended state were tied up underwater! What if they all came back to consciousness before they were rescued?

More personally, Harry looked at the other champions, two accomplished wizards, and one witch, all in their final year of school. Who wanted him out there with them? Why?

Who was coming up with the tasks, and who was approving them?

The fury built and Harry had no outlet. He was close to making up his mind to make an intentional botch of the final task, withdraw and transform into a Hogwarts loyalist fan of Cedric Diggory. He started a short note to Daphne, something along the lines of "Almost there!" Once he got going, Harry didn't want to stop. He wrote on and on, starting with his gratitude for Daphne's constant support, how he knew she was there in the crowd even if they couldn't be friends, good friends, special friends like normal magical fourth-years. He danced around and around the fact that he had developed genuine feelings of affection for Daphne and wanted nothing more than to tell her how he felt, face to face. Harry finally ran out of words and rolled his parchment into a tight tube and put it in his pocket. He ate dinner with the Gryffindors, then headed straight to the owlery as soon as the elves cleared the tables.

Harry hadn't taken the note out of his pocket and was still talking to Hedwig when he heard a foot scrape on the stone step.

"Hullo, Harry," said a quiet voice.

Harry didn't even have to turn around.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Daphne walked up close behind Harry and reached out to stroke Hedwig's cheek feathers.

"The look on your face at dinner," she said, laying her own cheek on Harry's shoulder. "You have been magnificent so far. I'm not the only one who thinks so. Even in Slytherin."

"I can't…" said Harry.

"Believe me?" Daphne asked, interrupting. "Suit yourself. Have you ever caught me in a lie? I'm trying to think…"

"Stop!" Harry said, starting to laugh despite himself, he was enjoying his rage and didn't really want it to end.

"Something you wanted to tell me?" Daphne continued. "We haven't spoken for a while. Were you going to send me a little note?"

"It's over two months since we talked, and I have a big note, not a little one, in my pocket," Harry said. "I'm not going to send it, nor will I give it to you. It was along the lines of 'Wah-wah-wah, help me feel sorry for myself,' because I'm angry and trapped in this ridiculous tournament and I don't know why and I miss our talks. Walks. I miss the walks, too. Now we can talk, like couples should, and I'll mind my manners."

"So, we're a couple?" Daphne asked.

"It seems like we are," Harry said. "To me, anyway."

"Hmmm," said Daphne.

"You feel differently?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," said Daphne. "I thought we had begun to act like it, but you never said anything. Well, it was the kind of thing I thought perhaps you would ask me about first."

"Ohh…" Harry said, catching up to Daphne's meaning. "I'm so sorry. Really! How do you do that? This never happened to me before."

"Quite right, Harry, it never happened to me, either, but I would be satisfied if you just asked if I had any interest in seeing anyone besides you, for walks and talks."

"Oh, that makes sense," Harry said. "Is there anyone else you'd be interested in seeing, for walking, and talking, and going to dances and whatnot?"

"No," said Daphne, "Thank-you for asking. How about you? Anyone you find yourself pining for?"

"NO!" laughed Harry. "You must think I'm so thick."

"Not at all," said Daphne. "It's like you said, this is all new. I'm glad we cleared the air. It really didn't take any time at all, once we got to it. You were very sweet, and no one became angry or got hurt feelings. What did you say? Talk like couples should. Now, you have one more task. Do your best. Be careful. Expect the unexpected. When it hits, stay calm and don't panic. Remember what we talked about. Someone went to a lot of risk, and trouble…"

"I know, I know," said Harry. "I'm glad we talked, too."

"Don't get distracted," said Daphne. "Can you do that? How's Professor Moody doing?"

"Great," said Harry. "He's been a big help."

"Good," said Daphne. "Keep your head about you. A lot of people are behind you, Harry. Wishing you well. More than you know. I have to get back."

Daphne's vision blurred as she looked at Harry's face.

"Damn," she said to herself, just barely audible. They moved at the same time. Their lips met and Harry got one arm around Daphne before she laid her hand on his chest and stepped back.

"No, please, I can't," she said, as a huge wail tried to escape from her core, "It feels like I'm kissing you good-bye. Bad luck. Forgive me, please."

Daphne turned and crossed the stone landing, then started down the tower stairs, much too fast for someone crying real tears.

Harry made up with Ron, of course, once Ron worked through the illogic of his doubts, aided by his reaction to the hardships, and risks, inherent in trying to complete the champions' tasks. Harry was happy to have both Ron and Hermione as collaborators once again, but he still missed Daphne.

Harry knew, of course, that some of Daphne's Slytherin housemates most definitely weren't in his corner, and a little patience on his part would lessen Daphne's difficulties. Knowing they were both agreeable to thinking of themselves as a couple helped. Even five minutes a day for a little walking and talking would have made such a difference, though.

Harry figured the final task would be designed to separate the champions from The Champion. He also knew it involved a maze. That meant the challenge was more mental than physical, because a maze is a mental challenge at its core. Solving a maze is a matter of feeling one's way and remembering, until the path, either in or out, becomes clear. The path is there all along. Of course, by applying magic, the designers of the task could be expected to have put something in the way of a quick solution. Being open, not making assumptions, and keeping a clear head would be the keys.

Hedwig swooped down and dropped an envelope on Harry's plate at lunch on the day before the third task. The champions' mail had all been picking up as witches and wizards around the world had been following the tournament through their own local publications. Everyone was getting help from schoolmates in opening and reading the notes and letters.

The envelope Hedwig delivered was sealed. Aside from Harry's name and address there were no other markings. Harry held it in his hand and squeezed gently. The envelope was a bit puffy but there were no hard or sharp objects that Harry could feel.

"Hermione?" he said, holding it up.

Hermione drew her wand and passed it slowly over the envelope.

"You can open it," she said.

Harry pushed his thumb under the flap and broke the seal. Inside was a very nice silk handkerchief, not quite large enough to call a scarf. Harry pulled it free and shook it out, then checked the envelope. There was nothing else, so he turned back to the handkerchief. Someone who was really good with a needle and thread had done some beautiful embroidery work in one quadrant.

A lion rampant challenged some unseen party, both paws up, out in front and his mouth open to roar, or bite. Around the lion's left foreleg was a snake. It wrapped around and around, five times. The snake's head was raised up and it faced the same, unseen enemy. A great belt encircled the pair twice before closing the circle at the buckle. Beneath everything else was a banner with a single word: Nobiscum.

"Hermione, any idea what no-bi-scum means?" Harry asked.

"What? Let me see," said Hermione. Harry stretched the handkerchief to make the embroidery stand out.

"It's Latin," said Hermione, "It's pronounced 'no-BEES-coom,' you hear it a lot in Church Latin, it means 'with us.' So, God be with us, peace be with us…"

"With us?" Harry asked.

"That's it," said Hermione.

Harry looked at the Slytherins. Daphne's face was down as she appeared to be engrossed in a study of the plate in front of her. Tracey was looking straight at Harry and gave Daphne an elbow when she saw Harry looking their way. Daphne's head popped up. Harry showed her the handkerchief woven in and out of the fingers of his right hand, before he kissed it and reached inside his robe where he slipped it into the left breast pocket of his shirt.

Harry got up with a good deal more belligerence on the day of the final task, compared to the first two. The knight had his lady's favor on his person, so he would battle for her. If he died, he would die happy, and with honor. What a wonderful way to start the day. Of course, he would rather live long enough to find out who thought him worth moving the Ministry for Magic and three world-renowned schools of witchcraft and wizardry in order to put him in the kill zone. Harry had no doubt that Daphne had sorted the how and why of his predicament, in outline. All that was necessary was to tease out the specifics. When that was done Harry Potter fully intended to dispense Justice, without fear or favor.

The terrible design of the final task was apparent within the first few minutes after the champions entered the maze. The gloom overhead and the shadowy pathways produced an atmosphere that spoke of failure, imminent death and a future of cold in the company of the shades of the departed. Then the maze started to move. So much for remembering where you've been so trial and error illuminates your path.

Harry saw Fleur and Viktor consumed by the hedges. He had no idea where they'd gone. Taken. He had to put the word out of his mind. If he froze in place, he'd be taken, too. He knew he couldn't trust the Ministry. The Ministry was at minimum reckless about the competitors' lives and at worst collaborating in a plot to kill or injure Harry Potter. He didn't want to become a shade. He kept moving.

Harry could have gotten a chill in the deep and sunless gloom, but he felt warm, all over. Even the ends of his fingers and toes felt it, radiating out from his heart. His lady's favor was in a shirt pocket next to his skin. Maybe that was the source. He couldn't prove it either way, so he chose to believe it kept him warm, kept his blood moving, kept him alert. He wasn't distracted by cold, at the very least, so, why not?

Nobiscum. With Us.

"Are you with us?"

"Yes," he heard.

There—it was Cedric. The others were gone. Harry and Cedric each tried to defer to the other, then agreed to return with the cup between them. Then the world underwent a convulsive reconfiguration and the purpose of the elaborate plan was revealed.

"BOW!" demanded Voldemort. Harry wouldn't and got another experience with the cruciatus curse.

Harry's injured arm wept blood down his wand, down his trouser leg, down to the ground. Voldemort wanted to duel. The monster who fancied himself the greatest, most powerful sorcerer in history was going to show off for his most senior sycophants by killing a fourteen-year-old student.

Harry stepped out from behind the tombstone. He'd die on his feet, happy. He was not going to become a shade. He carried Daphne's favor next to his heart and he planned to rest in hers until they met again.

"Nobiscum?"

Oh, yes.

The Dark Lord Voldemort should have put Harry Potter on the ground in less than a second and the fact that he didn't put the first doubts in the minds of his closest followers. He couldn't handle a fourth-year student, yet they all lived in fear and suffered nightmares because of him. Voldemort knew the longer the standoff continued the weaker his hold on his chief lieutenants became. Powerful as he was, Voldemort by himself was just another psychopath without an organization to command.

There in the graveyard, Harry sorted out the sequence he would have to follow to do what Cedric, Lily and James all wanted done. It worked, precisely as he had envisioned it. He broke the connection between wands, used the moments his parents bought him to get to Cedric's body, summoned the goblet and returned to Hogwarts. And another kind of Hell.

A week before term ended, Harry arranged to send a short letter by muggle post to his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, explaining that he would get a ride from King's Cross to Little Whinging with a school friend, saving them the drive into London. They would have been grateful for Harry's consideration, had they not been congenitally disagreeable.

"Thanks for doing this, Mr. Greengrass," Harry said just before Hugh apparated to Diagon Alley, taking Harry and Daphne with him.

"Harry, it is my privilege, believe me," said Hugh. "Thank-you for asking. Here we are."

The three of them climbed the steps to Gringotts' front door. Harry spotted Griphook behind a counter and walked up.

"Sir," said Harry when Griphook decided to look up from his ledger. "I'll need to visit the family vault."

"You can't take anything out, Mr. Potter, you aren't of age," Griphook said, with a sniff, then turned back to his ledger and rubber stamps.

"I wish to make a deposit," Harry said. "A family treasure that must have Gringotts' level security."

Griphook looked past Harry at Hugh Greengrass, who looked back, nodding just once.

When the little group arrived at the vault, Harry stepped in front of the door and laid his hand on the appropriate spot, then waited, listening for the lock's works. The door decided he was who he was supposed to be and swung open.

Hugh hung back, exercising a little discretion, although he was as curious as any other person would have been. One didn't see one's fellows' family vaults every day of the week, after all. Harry needed Daphne though, and motioned for her to come over to the door. They walked across the threshold together and the interior lamps lit up at Harry's presence.

There was a short note inside the heavy envelope describing the handkerchief, explaining how it came about, crediting it to Daphne Greengrass, and giving a modest account of its presence on Harry Potter's person when he fought the Dark Lord Voldemort to a draw in the graveyard. The envelope was sealed with a generous blob of crimson wax. On the front of the envelope was written 'Nobiscum.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Year Five**

**A New Titan**

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Greengrass," said Madame Pomfrey. "I hope you had a wonderful summer break, aside from this banged-up knee."

Daphne Greengrass sat on Madame Pomfrey's exam table the day after the students' return, with her skirt pulled up a few inches to allow inspection of the wound on her left knee.

"Who did you see, Miss Greengrass?" asked Madame Pomfrey.

"Healer Terri, ma'am. She's right down the lane from the farm," said Daphne.

"Oh, I know Terri very well," said Madame Pomfrey. "She is highly skilled, and not just as a healer. Terri never stops learning. Delightful witch to spend a little time with, if you're lucky enough. May I?"

"Go ahead," said Daphne. She prepared for at least a little pain as Madame Pomfrey touched the area around the closed wound but was pleasantly surprised when the probing was barely detectable.

"No painful spots?" asked Madame Pomfrey. "Do you feel heat in the area?"

"No, ma'am," said Daphne.

"Healer Terri has done her usual outstanding work, Miss Greengrass. You can hop down."

Daphne swung her legs over the edge of the table and stood. She caught a last look at her knees before her skirt fell down and covered them. She had grown two inches over the summer, perhaps a fraction more, and was strung out longer than ever. Her knees had never looked knobbier.

"Your wound is closed and the affected area is pain-free," said Madame Pomfrey. "You are cleared for all of your school-related subjects and activities. This is a topical potion that I want you to use for two more days. Rub a few drops in, morning and evening, today and tomorrow. It supports the work of the dittany. If you don't develop any further symptoms, we're done. What did you do?"

"Walking near the barn, stepped in a rut, hit a sharp rock on the ground."

"Ouch," said Madame Pomfrey. "Farm girl, then? The parents kept a little herd of cattle for reasons I never understood. You will have observed how attached I became to farm life, I'm sure."

Daphne nodded, smiling.

"Mum and Dad like the peace and quiet," she said. Daphne pocketed her little vial of potion, thanked Madame Pomfrey, and left the ward.

Daphne took the stairway just outside the hospital ward. She went down two floors and turned into the lesser-used side at the intersection of two corridors. A tapestry that hung very nearly to the floor, midway between two cross-corridors, rippled slightly, although there wasn't a detectable breeze, nor were any other people visible. Daphne stopped to look at a detail in the tapestry.

"They start the lighter shade here, contrasting with the shadow, there…But are these two reds intentional or is that just the dyes' aging process?"

Daphne reached into her sleeve for one of the little necessities she always kept with her, selected a substantial darning needle and removed it.

"Let's just see," she said to herself, lining up the point of the needle and looking exactly like a budding subject matter expert preparing to administer a good probing as part of her investigation.

"What?" said a voice in a hoarse whisper with notes of irritation and fear of the unknown.

"Oh, didn't see you there," said Daphne.

"I'm supposed to be invisible," hissed the voice.

"So you are, well, don't let me bollix up your arrangements," said Daphne, "I'll study this piece another time. I need to get back and write a little note to Mum and Dad, tell them Madame Pomfrey has pronounced my knee well on the way to fitness. If I send the owl right after dinner they should sleep peacefully tonight."

Daphne turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Harry went straight to the owlery from the Gryffindor table that evening. He was working his way through the owls with a little bag of treats for Hedwig's friends when Daphne arrived.

"Short version," Daphne said without introduction. She crossed to the far side of the owlery and spoke to an owl she shared with Tracey and Astoria. "Mum and Dad," were her whispered instructions to the owl as she tied the note to a leg.

"Our new DADA was at my hearing. She denied the dementors were in Surrey. Voted to expel me, confiscate my wand, I don't know what all," Harry said.

"How does she know the dementors weren't there? That's the same as calling you a liar," asked Daphne.

"Her exact words were, 'Dementors are under the control of the Ministry,'" said Harry. "Guess it follows I was lying."

"Or," said Daphne, "The dementors actually were under the control of the Ministry, or someone IN the Ministry who can dispatch dementors."

"Thought of that," said Harry. "I don't want to think about that too much."

"Merlin, Harry," said Daphne. "We may not have a choice. What is going on?"

"I don't know," Harry answered, "Have you gotten rid of those feelings we talked about in the spring?"

"No," said Daphne, barely above a whisper. "Had any dreams about being back on the chess board?"

"Yes," Harry said. "It's still going on. The machine is still turning over. At its own speed."

"We have to go," said Daphne. She took Harry's hand and squeezed it, hard.

"Go," Harry said, "I'll save it."

"Save what?" asked Daphne.

"Your…something I was going to give you," said Harry. His face felt a little warm but he managed to keep eye contact.

Daphne made a face as she stepped quickly across the owlery and disappeared down the steps. Harry started counting seconds, wondering if one minute would be enough.

Dolores Umbridge began accumulating authority within Hogwarts immediately following start of term. Letter after letter arrived from the Ministry, Cornelius Fudge-signed directives assigning Umbridge additional duties and arcane titles. That there was no basis in either existing law or precedent for the appointment of a High Inquisitor at Hogwarts did not deter Fudge or his instrument, Umbridge, from making the appointment and accepting it.

Dolores Umbridge demonstrated from the moment of her arrival that she was a narrow, prejudiced witch of modest ability. Umbridge had risen in the Ministry by identifying the person who could help her advance one more step upwards and doing whatever she could to make their work day easier. She volunteered to take all kinds of mundane duties off her supervisors' hands then worked tirelessly to get someone else to do the work for her. If necessary, she could utilize gossip, a well-aimed anonymous poison pen letter, and ordinary bullying, although she always preferred to find a way to get some praise for selflessness or vision or some other virtue. Those did not come automatically when one implemented one of the blunt power moves.

Harry's return from the maze and his story of the magical reconstitution of Voldemort's body and the rallying of the Death Eaters to Voldemort's side put Cornelius Fudge into a panic. The minister's scramble to contain the information began immediately. Dumbledore and his Hogwarts colleagues had gotten to the bottom of the Triwizard Tournament conspiracy while Fudge, in desperation, did everything he could to erase the evidence.

Harry and Daphne, in their owlery conversation, followed the logic to a very frightening point. If the Ministry, or an employee, had sent the dementors that attacked Harry and Dudley, at least one faction within the Ministry was prepared to commit murder to cover up the return of the Dark Lord. If the dementors were operating on their own, or had pledged loyalty somewhere other than the Ministry, all of magical Britain was under threat. Either way, a united magical community looked to be an impossibility.

Umbridge, Fudge loyalist and ministry hack, naturally saw Harry Potter as a threat to the Fudge party line. Harry would not back down from his account of the events in the graveyard and Cedric Diggory's murder. It followed that Harry Potter was an insolent liar and an obstacle that would have to be removed by any means necessary.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were huddled in the Gryffindor common room following Harry's release from his first detention with Umbridge.

"Harry, you've got to think before you speak," Hermione said. She was feeling rage, mixed with panic, as she held Harry's hand and looked at the words cut into his skin. "Umbridge…"

"I know," said Harry, "But what am I going to do? She called me a liar, in front of the whole class. I'm getting it in the dorm. From Gryffindors!"

"You won't win a debate, Harry," said Ron. "She has all the high cards."

The three leaned back into the couches, watching the glowing coals in the fireplace get dimmer and dimmer. Long, long minutes passed before Harry sat up.

"We have to look out for ourselves," Harry said. "Fudge has Dumbledore in a corner, with Umbridge here at Hogwarts."

Ron looked at Hermione before both turned toward Harry.

"The Ministry is in the hands of the enemy," he went on.

"Voldemort controls…" Hermione began, but Harry had already gone past her.

"Not yet," said Harry, "But the Ministry is doing Voldemort's work. It's not clear how, just yet. Pretty soon, anyone not accepting Fudge's word on this will be targeted. He believes he has to maintain the fiction, so if it isn't Umbridge it will be someone else. We can expect Fudge to put whatever resources he deems necessary into controlling information and stamping out dissent. Students are barely on his calendar. Something to swat, like a fly."

"That sounds like what gets done in war," said Ron.

"Right," said Harry. "I think that is what we've got on our hands."

Three people looked from face to face as Harry's words sank in, until all three stood and began to climb the stairs, never breaking their silence.

Dolores Umbridge worked constantly to undermine Albus Dumbledore and remove his allies from Hogwarts. She took more and more control of life at the school, exploiting the Ministry educational directives issued over Fudge signatures. Gradually, Umbridge ceased lecturing and Defense Against the Dark Arts consisted of readings in the theory of defense. The textbook surely would have been competitive in any contest for most turgid publication, ever. Students found it difficult to sit still. Umbridge deducted house points for anything she deemed 'fidgeting.' The threshold for fidgeting evolved to include shifting weight from one side to the other, crossing legs, uncrossing legs and propping one's chin up with a hand.

Voldemort was building up his forces, Harry was certain. He knew some Hogwarts students whose parents were Death Eaters. He'd seen them in the graveyard. Draco Malfoy and his associates became more obnoxious by the day. Harry guessed they were getting word from home that the old order's time was short, and soon they would be in the vanguard of the new order.

Harry studied the Slytherins every chance he got. He was concerned that his friendship with Daphne would get her unwelcome attention, but he saw no sign Malfoy had broken his promise and begun to target her for persecution. Daphne ate most meals with Tracey and Astoria. It appeared to Harry that they conversed among themselves, mainly, although Millicent Bulstrode would sometimes join the group. Pansy Parkinson sat with them several times a week. Harry thought Parkinson's body language said she was making an effort to chat the other girls up. Their body language, in turn, said they were on their guard.

Harry and Daphne worked at keeping their distance. If Gryffindor had a shared class with Slytherin, they stayed on opposite sides of the classroom. Even so, they found ways to meet once or twice a week. Hogwarts weekends were useful as so many of their classmates went to town for three or four hours, leaving plenty of space and opportunity in the castle for discreet conversations.

Harry discovered a latent taste for doing research for essays. He didn't become a scholar, as such, but the library stacks had dead ends and cul-de-sacs perfect for standing still, waiting for Daphne to happen by.

"Blocking spells?" Harry might whisper to Madame Pince as he entered, perhaps looking down at a slip of parchment for additional atmospherics, then thanking her sincerely for the silently-pointed finger.

If Daphne did come by, one of them might make a little note in the course of their research then let the other see where they re-shelved the volume.

"Owlery – 15," said Daphne's note one Saturday. Harry gave her a ten-minute head start. He used his knowledge of short cuts and hidden passages and got there two minutes before Daphne.

"Here," said Harry's voice, although the owlery appeared to be Potter-free.

"What-?" Daphne began.

"Real quiet," Harry said. "Put my cloak on. One of us might have been seen."

Daphne took the invisibility cloak and draped it over her head.

"Good," said Harry. "Stand right there. We can talk and I can watch the stairs. What's going on?"

"Professor Umbridge suspects you are running an illegal student club. She called me in and poured me some tea. Then she started asking questions," said Daphne.

Harry had been very careful to keep Daphne away from any knowledge of his Dumbledore's Army activities, for several reasons. One, as a Slytherin, she would be suspected of being a plant, or a subversive, or a provocateur by the other members. Two, their friendship was not exactly a secret, so it stood to reason it would come to Umbridge's attention at some point. That had now happened, apparently.

"Does she now?" asked Harry. "What does she think I'm up to?"

"All she said was that Harry Potter was not the sort of wizard a fine, young Slytherin witch of my quality and breeding would find suitable," Daphne began. "Besides being a liar, Harry Potter publicly slandered the Ministry with his story about being attacked by dementors. He'd managed to cover up his violation of the prohibition on underage magic by convincing the Wizengamot he'd been attacked. It is only a matter of time, before Potter gets what's coming to him, et cetera. I should think of my parents and sister and work with Umbridge."

"Hmm…" said Harry. "She's going straight for your throat. How can I help?"

"She's waiting for you to slip up," said Daphne. "Don't slip up."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Harry!" said Daphne. "This is serious. Whoever sent those dementors to Little Whinging knew what they were doing. That was attempted murder. You proved to be too much for dementors. Next time they'll try something bigger, more powerful."

"I had been thinking about that," said Harry. "Now, what about you? Umbridge implicitly threatened Astoria and your parents, to get you to cooperate. Was that as far as it went?"

Harry didn't see what she did, but Daphne must have moved under the cloak because the wall behind her seemed wavy for a moment. There was the sound of a sniff.

"She told me it was my duty to report to her, anything I learned," said Daphne. "She didn't threaten Astoria directly, but she certainly made the connection."

"What did you say?"

"I said I don't know you, we just speak to be polite," Daphne said. "I couldn't tell if she believed me."

Harry leaned against the stone wall of the owlery tower. He could hear the shouts and laughter of students walking back from Hogsmeade. The population would be returning to normal and soon there would be business for the owls.

"She'll be pushing you to become friendlier, maybe even try to get me to ask you out. Don't tell her no," Harry said.

"Harr-EEE?" said a surprised Daphne. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe, Daphne," said Harry. He tried for warmth but his voice seemed like sound, frozen, even to him. That's how he felt inside.

"Dolores Umbridge either tried to get me killed, or would not have cared either way, as long as the dementors managed to shut me up," Harry said. "She and Fudge are trying a little different tack right now, turning their attention to Professor Dumbledore, but they haven't forgotten about me. We have to keep you on their side for as long as we can."

"Oh, Harry, you want me to be a spy!" said Daphne. Harry thought she sounded much too agreeable for her own good.

"Daphne, you're already a spy, in Umbridge's mind," Harry said. "She has to keep thinking she is compromising you. Otherwise…"

"I hear you, Harry," said Daphne. "These people…"

"Yes," Harry said. "Yes. That is what we are up against. Want to keep the cloak? Get it back to me when you can."

Harry heard Daphne's feet moving, barely. She must have been tiptoeing. There was a brief rippling at the door, then a few more footsteps. In an instant Daphne appeared and Harry felt the cloak fall down over both of them.

"It's just big enough, if we cuddle," whispered Daphne. She wrapped both arms around Harry, pinning his upper arms to his sides. He could still get his hands to meet at the small of Daphne's back, though.

"Ohhhh…" he said.

"Can we do this?" Daphne asked, a little tease in her voice.

"Other than abandoning Britain and going into exile, I don't think we have a choice at the moment," Harry said.

"My thoughts exactly," Daphne said. "We'll work it out. Stay focused on Umbridge. Thwart her plans when we can. Watch the other's back. Now, you stay, count to six hundred, and let me slip out."

Daphne did slip out before Harry could begin his protest. If Harry's hands had been where his instincts, as opposed to his gentleman's brain, had wanted to go, it might have taken a bit longer and he could have had more time to analyze his feelings about being in contact with Daphne from where their cheeks touched all the way down to her knobby knees. As it was, he'd have to settle for the memory. Harry didn't want the distraction of counting while he listened to her steps fade so he granted himself a little grace for the lost time and stopped counting at five hundred seventy-five.

When Harry agreed to teach the Dumbledore's Army students a little practical defensive magic, he thought the group might become something like the dueling club from his second year, only more useful, and, honestly, successful. After all, the members of the DA were motivated and wanted to learn. They would be on their own time. They'd also be courting an unknown fate since they were violating one of Umbridge and Fudge's educational decrees.

It was only when the clumsy Umbridge tried to turn a classmate into an informant that he realized how their little, informal club had somehow managed to step on more Ministry gouty toes. Harry thought over his predicament. A Ministry minion was initiating an intelligence operation targeting him. One mistake could mean disaster, for him, Daphne, or both. He had to assume Umbridge had experience and resources to bring to bear. Therefore, he needed to know what people did when they opposed overwhelming numbers and resources.

"What should I be reading?" Harry asked Hermione. "The Ministry is going to get frustrated. Fudge will want to crush Dumbledore and anyone who doesn't believe his approved version of the story of Cedric's murder. I'm kind of on record…"

"Oh, you are," agreed Hermione. "Sun Tzu would be a good place to start. 'All warfare is deception,' or something like that."

"What? Who?" asked Harry, reaching for a quill and some parchment.

"Sun Tzu," answered Hermione. "The Art of War. It's a classic by a legendary Chinese general. Still studied by officer candidates today."

Harry wrote it down.

"Anything else?"

"Julius Caesar's Commentaries on the Gallic Wars," said Hermione. "Try to read it for what the Gauls were doing TO Caesar and the legions, not the other way around."

"Right," said Harry, "Caesar."

"Gibbon," said Hermione. "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

"Isn't that a really big one? Any particular reason?" Harry asked.

"Learn from others' mistakes," said Hermione. "Then you don't have to make the same ones for yourself."

Harry was back in the library after dinner, little slip of parchment in hand, searching the stacks for Sun Tzu, Caesar and Gibbon. He considered checking them out but thought better of it. If Umbridge was trying to manipulate Daphne to get to him, he couldn't be sure Madame Pince or one of her student assistants wasn't also reporting to the High Inquisitor. Harry pulled his books and found a little window seat with an overhead lamp. He opened up the Commentaries and began reading: _"All of Gaul is divided into three parts." _

Harry's days became trying exercises in detection avoidance. He worked through Ron, Hermione and Neville to schedule and conceal practical defense training for the DA. The three proved naturally adept at conspiracy. It was Ron who first advised Harry to break up their conversations, if they pertained to DA business, so if one of them were caught and interrogated they would not be able to give up everything all at once.

Harry continued with his reading. Most evenings saw him spending an hour in the library. He did not take notes and began keeping a hand over the book's spine.

Harry stopped saying anything about Daphne, to anyone. She continued to give him a wink and a smile across a classroom or in the corridors. Once she stopped at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, supporting herself with one flat hand while she laid an inky quill in front of Harry.

"You dropped this outside," Daphne said.

"Oh, thanks, Greengrass," said Harry. He looked at the back of the hand on the table.

"OWL – 7," said a message, already fading out of existence as Harry watched.

"Anything else?" asked Harry with a little bit of leer.

"You wish," said Daphne. She was a little bit dismissive in combination with just the right amount of flirting. Daphne spun in a swirl of robe and almost stomped over to the Slytherins to take a seat next to Tracey Davis.

Harry knew Dolores Umbridge had taken to having most of her meals in her rooms. Still, he hoped she had an informant planted somewhere with a good view of Harry's seat at the Gryffindor table. Daphne was doing an incredible job.

"We have to draw her onto ground of our choosing," Harry said later that evening when he and Daphne were alone in the owlery. "Great job at dinner. How are you doing with Umbridge? Any more interviews?"

"Yes," said Daphne. "She expressed some disappointment that I had not succeeded in getting closer to you. Without coming right out and saying so, she implied I would be forgiven for reporting pillow talk, if I succeed in getting you to engage in some. There is a long and honored history of that, were you aware?"

"I need to punch something," Harry said.

"She is what she is," said Daphne. "It will be to our advantage to remember, since she gave it up at no additional charge. Let me think over your comment. Ground of our choosing. Just be ready, Harry. You might have one chance. Now, I propose I give Umbridge a little taste of something to whet her interest. I've picked up gossip, unconfirmed, that you've been seen coming out of the Forbidden Forest when you had no known business in there. Give her something to ponder."

"Go ahead, but only if she summons you to another command performance," said Harry. "How are you at occlumency?"

"Not bad," said Daphne. "Umbridge tried to use legilimency on me but she's clumsy. It feels like she's bumping around in there. I don't think she has gotten into a single thing I wanted to keep to myself. How's yours, by the way?"

"Oh, I've just begun to do a few exercises…," Harry said. He tried not to, but he looked into Daphne's eyes, which had some mysterious ability to lock onto his and not let go.

"If I may make a suggestion, it would be a good idea to increase your practice time, Harry," said Daphne. "You're very sweet, and I know you mean nothing dishonorable, but your thoughts can be a bit earthy, at times."

Harry felt the heat moving up his neck and was sure his face was tomato red, at least.

Daphne looked out of the owlery door and down the stairs as far as she could see. Once again their luck held. Daphne waved her wand and thought, "Nox," putting out the one burning lamp. She crossed the platform and put her arms around Harry. His slid up around her waist.

"Just one, we have to go," she whispered.

Harry didn't have to be asked twice. He kissed Daphne gently on her lips. She reciprocated, not gently, but hungrily. It was short and there was only one just as she had said. Daphne put some muscle behind the kiss, and they both gasped when she pulled away. Before Harry knew it, Daphne was gone.

Umbridge never did get all of the information about the DA, but she got enough. The cascading crises that began with Cornelius Fudge's appearance at Hogwarts, his instructions for Dumbledore's arrest, and Dumbledore's departure with Fawkes brought all the conspiracies together in Umbridge's mind. Hermione improvised a lame distraction about a fictitious weapon that fed directly into Umbridge's paranoia.

"Weapon!" she shouted. She put Hermione's desperate lie together with Daphne's red herring and suddenly saw the complete, ephemeral mosaic. "So that is what you've been doing in the Forbidden Forest, isn't it Potter?"

Percy Weasley stood up straighter than ever. He had tried to warn Ron to stay clear of Harry. Now he'd gotten involved with some seditious secret weapon project. 'All well and good, Potter,' thought Percy, 'because Azkaban is just the place to put you to keep you away from the Weasleys,' while Percy worked on his family's rehabilitation.

Walking through the forest, Umbridge believed she had the situation well on the way to resolution, with Potter in no position to bargain over the rock-solid evidence of his treasonous participation in a secret weapon project. Until, that is, the arrival of the centaurs.

The centaurs wanted Umbridge and the other humans out of their forest. Umbridge drew on her prejudices to support her counter-argument, then upon her rage when her prejudice fell short. There is never any common ground between such positions.

When Umbridge abandoned her office for the forest, there was no one left to provide muscle, and the better-skilled DA members overcame the left-behind Inquisitorial Squad and joined up with Harry and Hermione on the fringes of the forest. Daphne didn't know what was going on but she saw Neville, Ginny and the others leave the castle and followed, keeping her distance. Daphne was desperate to talk to Harry but knew she had to preserve her cover, so she watched the group take off and disappear in the distance. While she watched, she thought over their situation. The DA would need help. Her means of communication were cut off. Dumbledore was gone, not that she held him in the same high esteem as Harry. Priorities sorted, Daphne ran back to the castle to find Professor McGonagall.

What became known as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries was just one of a series of initial and inconclusive opening skirmishes in the struggle between Voldemort's forces and his opponents. Still, Harry and his Dumbledore's Army comrades managed to prove beyond any doubt that Voldemort had returned.

They had help, but Harry and his fellow students had engaged hardened Death Eaters and lived. They even held their own, for a time. They would all ponder and learn from the events of the day. The prophecy Professor Trelawney had delivered to Dumbledore was destroyed without being revealed to Voldemort. Harry knew how it concluded. It took work, but Harry accepted the idea that it would come down to either him, or Voldemort.

"You saved us," Harry said.

Nearly June, Scotland was getting rinsed by a mixture of mist, drizzle, and low, thick clouds. Harry had his cowl up to keep the mist off. Daphne had hers up as well, so they walked side by side without seeing much of the other's face.

"Oh, that was you, and the Order," said Daphne.

"Modesty," said Harry. "I know the truth. You stayed cool, assessed the situation and went directly to the best person you could find to organize help. I owe you. We all do."

They came to a spot where the path deviated toward the lake to get around a patch of some kind of shrubby overgrowth. The mist and the brush combined to keep them invisible from the castle. Daphne stopped at a little gap in the tangled branches. She drew Harry into the gap and opened her cloak. Harry opened his cloak and pulled Daphne close.

"Harry, you don't owe me anything," said Daphne. "Any service I can do for you and your allies, I'll give, free of charge or any obligation. Would it be right to say this will all get settled between you and him, and our world will have to live with the outcome?"

"It certainly does look that way," sighed Harry.

"Mm-hmm," said Daphne. "So, if people our age want to marry and have children and bring them up in a sane magical world, that might all depend on Harry Potter meeting the Dark Lord and defeating him."

Harry stood, silent, mouth set, eyes looking into Daphne's.

"How could you ever owe me anything, Harry?" Daphne asked. "Everything dear to me is behind a wall named Harry Potter. I will risk anything to keep the wall there because my sister and my parents and our little piece of Devon have no hope of a decent life in a world ruled by Voldemort. Now, was there anything else?"

"Oh, was there?" Harry asked.

"Remember? It has been a little while, I know," said Daphne.

"Oh, that, uh," Harry said, words suddenly failing him. He inclined his head toward Daphne's, closed his eyes and let instinct work it all out.


	6. Chapter 6

Year Six

Look Inward, Hero

Professor Dumbledore plucked Harry out of the dreary end of a dreary summer with the Dursleys. Harry was grateful to Dumbledore for putting an end to the tedium, but the adventure he anticipated turned out to be a phantom, as all the headmaster needed was a lure to bring Horace Slughorn back for another tour as a Hogwarts professor. Still, Harry didn't complain, as Dumbledore left him with the Weasleys.

Harry loved being at the Burrow with the Weasley family. No longer subject to the Dursleys' prejudices, he could talk about magic, play pickup quidditch with the younger Weasleys and generally live the life a normal magical teen ought to be allowed to live. Harry, Ron and Hermione, who was also spending the end of vacation at the Burrow, wandered lanes, coped with garden gnomes and generally enjoyed a few last golden days before start of term. Hermione, of course, stuck to a study schedule, but she kept enough hours free to indulge in a little socializing.

Harry and Ginny maintained a respectful distance between themselves, as they had since their talk at the end of Harry's second year. Still, Ginny always sat directly across the table from Harry at meals, giving her plenty of opportunities for eye contact, the occasional wink, and a strategic brushing-back of a wandering lock of hair.

Harry didn't recognize those gestures as flirtatious. He was much more concerned about his prospects for living through the school year. He knew Voldemort was out there, somewhere, nursing a fixation on killing Harry Potter. Rambling with Hermione and Ron made Voldemort recede into the background.

Harry and Daphne began sending short notes every day. Uncle Vernon was not around to object to Hedwig coming and going so she happily flew back and forth between Flinty Fields Farm and the Burrow. Vaguely aware Flinty Fields and the Burrow were both in Devon, Harry couldn't have said just where he and Daphne were located.

Ron and Hermione would not be with him for a good part of the trip to Hogwarts because, as prefects, they would have duties to attend to on the train. He wondered if Daphne would show up, or if she would feel it was better for everyone if she hung out with the Slytherins in the last car.

Harry thought, briefly, about suggesting they share a compartment, before dismissing the idea. He'd been attacked before on the Hogwarts Express. He wanted Daphne well clear, should it happen again. Besides, written messages could be intercepted. Harry didn't want to do anything that could bring Daphne unwelcome attention, from inside or outside Slytherin House.

Harry was sitting on a chair in the yard at the Burrow when Ginny joined him.

"Daphne?" Ginny asked, indicating the small piece of parchment Harry was holding.

"Ahh…yes," Harry said, reflexively folding the parchment along the crease. "One of her cows had a calf."

"Give her the Weasleys' congratulations," said Ginny. "Are you going to play this year? You're not still banned, are you?"

Ginny meant quidditch, of course.

"Don't know," Harry said. "Umbridge banned me, for life, but now Umbridge is gone. I've never been informed, either way. Everything equal, I'd love to play again."

Left unsaid was any background on what 'everything' included.

"Well," Ginny said, "We'd love to have you back. If Daphne…"

Harry looked up.

"Go on," said Harry, "Please."

"I didn't mean," Ginny began. "Maybe I did. I'm sorry, Harry. I know Daphne isn't like that."

Ginny looked at Harry, long enough for him to begin to feel uncomfortable, then, without speaking again, she turned and walked back to the house.

"DRAT!"

Harry's mind was not capable of going beyond that one-syllable expression of consternation. How in the world…?

Harry knew he needed some counsel, wise counsel, from someone who understood young men and women, complicated feelings, the boundaries between friendship and the realm of stronger emotions. He needed Lily, or James, or Sirius, or someone like them, who had been through young adulthood and could give him some guidance. Unfortunately, everyone he could think of, who might be able to help, was dead.

Harry didn't have the words for it, but he had an internal conflict. He liked Daphne and wanted to continue with their walks and talks. He'd like to take her to a dance or to Hogsmeade or to anything else among the activities that gave young people the chance to do things as couples. He didn't want to do anything that would draw Daphne into the turbulence that always surrounded Harry Potter.

Harry told himself he was holding onto his emotions until his Voldemort situation was resolved one way or the other. Only if he found himself alive and the Dark Lord dead would he be able, in good conscience, to properly declare his feelings and intentions and court a prospective mate. Only then would there be a realistic chance that he would have the sort of future that would interest a young woman. Only then would he be able to be a companion who was not simultaneously a mortal threat to any innocents near him.

Harry liked Ginny. He had not seen her as a potential girlfriend because she was Ron's sister. It was also true that he and Daphne had come to a fork in the road in second year, following the very public delivery of Ginny's Valentine's Day poem. Daphne was Harry's guide through that thicket, showing him how to keep her friendship, if he wanted it, by honestly pinching off Ginny's hopes of a continuing, romantic relationship.

What Harry needed was an hour or two for a private conversation with Daphne. He folded the parchment over and wrote, "Love to see the new calf." Hedwig inclined her head, grasped the little note in her beak and took off.

Harry was sitting in his chair, still looking off in the direction Hedwig had taken when she left with his note to Daphne, when he heard the 'POP' of someone either arriving or leaving by apparation. He turned toward the sound and saw Emma and Daphne Greengrass just outside the Burrow's wards.

"Harry," Daphne called. "Can you make sure the wards aren't going to kill us?"

"Sure," Harry shouted and sprinted for the kitchen door.

Two minutes later Molly Weasley was pouring tea for Emma and Daphne at the kitchen table of the Burrow, chatting her visitors up and generally rolling out the welcome mat. Emma was warm, complimenting Molly on the tea and her freshly-baked cookies. Harry hadn't seen a lot of personality in the Emma Greengrass he'd met at Fortescue's just before the start of their third year at Hogwarts. He wondered what had changed.

"Molly, the reason we're here is Daphne's Buttercup had a calf and Harry said he'd like to see it," Emma said, looking over her teacup. "We're so close, I thought if we could just borrow him for a couple of hours, I'll bring him right back. I'll see he eats a nutritious dinner, too, if that is alright with you."

"Of course it's alright, Emma," said Molly. "You're in for a treat, Harry! Never turn down a meal that Emma's had anything to do with."

A very short time later Harry stood on a little hill looking down at a cottage. The building was whitewashed beneath a thatched roof penetrated by small dormers. Dark wooden frames for the windows and the door accented the penetrations through the white walls. Hibiscus, hydrangeas and several types of evergreen shrubbery surrounded the house. The yard was paved with cobblestones between the house and the barn. The pens on the far side of the barn, away from the house, gave way to a pasture surrounded by a dry laid flagstone wall. Harry stood, looking at the farmstead, thinking to himself it was the most perfect homesite he had ever seen.

"Harry?" Daphne said. "Ready?"

"Oh! Oh, yes, sorry, it's such a nice-looking place," Harry said. "I only thought farms like this existed in books or paintings. It's just so perfect. It's got everything, but nothing is out of place."

Harry started down the little ridge between Emma and Daphne, his eyes darting from the house to the barn, the stone wall, the kitchen garden…

"Thank-you, Harry!" said Emma, laughing a little. "Farming is hard work, but magic makes it go so much faster. Then, if your magical farmer uses their extra time wisely, they can attend to some of the aesthetics. Right, then, sit here."

Emma indicated a wooden bench next to the door. Harry could see through a window that the first room inside was the kitchen.

"Shoes," Emma said, without explanation. Daphne pushed her trainers off so Harry did the same, then watched as Emma waved her wand at both pairs.

"Try them," Emma said, indicating the green rubber boots that had been transformed out of their athletic shoes.

"Good," said Harry after he had pulled his pair on.

"Sure?" asked Emma, her wand still in her hand.

"Yes, ma'am, they're fine," Harry said.

"Then I'll turn you over to Daphne, Harry," Emma said. "Dinner will be on the table in forty-five minutes. Daphne will get you back on time."

With that, Emma Greengrass disappeared into her kitchen. Daphne took Harry's hand, even though he was pretty sure he wasn't going to wander off and get lost, and departed for the barn.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, still looking around as they walked across the cobbles.

"Devon," said Daphne. "Five miles from the Burrow. Well, actually, it's between one and two miles from where the two farms' boundaries are closest, but the Burrow's kitchen table is almost exactly five muggle miles from here. Miles aren't really all that significant for wizarding folk, as you're aware."

"Right," said Harry. "All this time, and I never knew."

"What would you have done?" asked Daphne, turning her head to see Harry's reaction.

"I don't really know," said Harry. "I never got an invitation before. I don't suppose I'd have done anything. Rude. I hope."

Daphne found his undecipherable confusion delightful, for some reason, and entered the barn laughing.

"Down here," she said as she led the way to a stall. Daphne opened a half-door and motioned Harry inside, re-latched the door and led the way through the stall and back outside to a pen constructed of whitewashed planks mounted on sturdy fenceposts.

"Buttercup dropped him in the pasture, sometime in the early morning," Daphne said. "We let him get steady on his feet and walked back with the two of them. Hugh keeps the paddocks in grass. Muggle paddocks are usually bare because the hooves keep anything from growing. Hugh, of course, likes the babies to have a nice, clean paddock and grass underfoot, so, a little extra effort, a little magic, and young Harry has a proper nursery. Hullo, Buttercup! How is he?"

The big, red cow Daphne addressed tossed her head once in acknowledgment.

"Um, Harry?" asked Harry. Daphne laughed out loud, causing Buttercup to roll her eyes.

"We can change it, if you don't want him to be Harry," said Daphne. "Astoria came up with it, this morning. Daphne and Harry, her little bull-calf. Apparently, that is hysterical, in Astoria-world."

"Oh, I don't mind," Harry said. "It's kind of an honor, isn't it? Nothing's ever been named for me, as far as I know. What kind are they?"

"The cattle? Devons. Red Devons. They're a very old breed and originated right here. Some of their fans like to call them Red Rubies. Seems a bit affectionate, to me. We do end up eating them, don't we?"

Harry looked Buttercup in the eye. She wasn't giving anything away, but there was wisdom showing. Harry hoped she hadn't found Daphne's comment too disturbing. Buttercup really was red, all over, without as much as a patch of any other color. Her hair coat was short, with just a hint of curl. Harry the calf walked over and pushed his head between Buttercup's leg and her udder, then began to suck. He pulled off and gave the udder a sound bump with his nose then tried again. Buttercup adjusted her weight and turned her head to assess Harry the calf's position. She gave his rear a push with her nose. Something in the combination of fine tunings must have made things work because Harry began slurping while Buttercup got a very contented look on her face.

Daphne waved her wand.

"Got to keep track of the time," she said. "Mum is a stickler. Anyway, that is Buttercup, and Buttercup's calf, Harry. They seem to be doing just fine, so we'll take our leave and go look around. It's your first time here, so you have to see the highlights. Who knows when you'll be back?"

"I could move in," Harry said. "Right now."

"Ha," said Daphne, "It still looks like the bucolic country retreat you saw when we first apparated in. Farming is a commitment. Even with magic. You have to love it to do it right."

"Do you?" Harry asked. "Do you love it? Is this what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

Daphne's face fell.

"That's a difficult question, isn't it, Harry?" she said. "So much is unsettled. Can any of us make plans?"

Daphne looked over at Harry as they walked away from the barn. They were taking a lane somewhere, apparently to see something Daphne wanted to show him.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry," Daphne said when she realized she'd brought up an extraordinarily sensitive subject for Harry. "Please, I didn't mean…"

She grasped his arm, just above the elbow. Harry put his right hand over Daphne's.

"It's fine, really," Harry said. "No need to apologize. I brought it up. You're right, aren't you? Things don't look really promising. Still, we should all have a plan."

"Do you?" Daphne asked.

"I did," Harry said, "Now, I don't know. I looked into a career as an auror, and was ready to try to meet the qualifications, but candidates have to pass advanced potions. Professor Snape's rule was only those with 'Outstanding' OWLS could take the advanced course. I didn't get an Outstanding."

"Oh, that doesn't seem fair!" Daphne said. "One grade below the mark on one exam and a whole career field is closed to you? Definitely, not…FAIR!"

Something about Daphne's rage on his behalf struck Harry as comical and he chuckled.

"Thanks," he said, then chuckled again.

"Here we are, and stop laughing at me!" ordered Daphne. She'd brought him to another little hill, one with a good view of the farm and the fields that surrounded it.

"That way is the house, the barn, the paddocks, Buttercup and Harry. This right in front of us is a pasture. Over there in that corner you can just make out a little clump of Welsh ponies that Astoria and I still ride whenever we can. That direction is the Burrow, and the Lovegoods' is just over the ridge from the Burrow, I don't know if you knew that, and that way is Dartmouth and the Channel, and, eventually, France."

"It's all just so beautiful," Harry said, impressed as ever. "The house and barn, especially."

"Thank-you, Harry," said Daphne. "We're all quite proud of it, but, of course, not everyone thinks country life is worth the time and effort. Flinty Fields has been in the family since before Hogwarts was founded. Different pieces of land have been added or sold or given as dowry but this is the heart of the Greengrass family seat. Hugh thinks our connection might predate written records. Well, time to head for the house. I have to deliver you, washed and presentable, or…you don't want to know. Mum…"

"Is a stickler," Harry finished for her.

"You're learning, Harry," Daphne said, adding in a quiet voice, as if she expected someone might overhear, "Greengrass is a lifetime study."

"Is it?"

"According to one of my uncles, yes, it is," Daphne said. Harry didn't hear any irony in her voice.

When they got to the kitchen door Daphne pulled her feet out of her rubber boots and nodded to Harry to do the same. Harry thought Daphne actually had a little color around her cheeks following the brisk walk, remarkable only against her usual pallor.

"You can leave them there," she said as she opened the door. "Taking Harry to show him where to wash up, Mum."

They walked down a hallway to a bathroom. Daphne pulled a towel from a linen closet across the hall, then stuck her head in the bathroom and spoke just for Harry.

"Face, hands, and perhaps a little water on that hair and run your hands through it, so it looks like you tried. She'll give you credit for trying. Just leave the towel on that hook. Wait here, I'll be back."

Harry listened to the sound of bare feet slapping on stairs as he carried out Daphne's instructions. All the running water triggered a common response so Harry made sure the door was latched and got extra-ready for dinner. Harry was washing his hands again when Daphne knocked.

"Right," Harry said, and opened the door.

"Good job, Harry Potter," said Daphne, looking him up and down. "Ready for something to eat?"

Harry looked closely at everything as they walked back to the kitchen. He could see the farmhouse was saturated with magic. Walls seemed to shimmer as if they were just itching to move aside to turn the hallway into a ball room. A large, framed mirror filled with people wearing clothes hundreds of years out of date, all crowding to the front to get a look at Daphne and her Young Gentleman. Harry heard voices as they passed it— "Fleamont's grandson? Ignotus, then Iolanthe…How is he a Black?" Very little of it meant anything to him. Standard deceased peoples' gossip, he assumed, resolving to take it up with Sir Nicholas at the first opportunity.

"So, Harry, welcome to Flinty Fields!" Hugh Greengrass enthused when Daphne led Harry into the kitchen. Harry smelled the blend of lavender and rosemary from a brand of soap popular with wizards. Little droplets of water clung to the hairs at Hugh's temples. "Sorry I wasn't around earlier but a farmer must manage his accounts or his accounts will manage him. What do you think of our little corner of Devon?"

Harry couldn't say anything in reply as he stood looking around the kitchen he'd just traversed a few minutes earlier. The ancient country kitchen had expanded to accommodate a generous plank table with chairs at either end and benches on the sides, a fireplace with a cauldron on a big iron hook, and a fire, in August, while the temperature was comfortable, even cool. Three house elves were filling shallow bowls with stew from the cauldron. Emma pulled small loaves of bread from an oven built into the stonework on the left side of the fireplace.

Astoria Greengrass sat in one of the chairs, her fingers held in a tent shape, watching the activity.

"Hugh, try not to fish for compliments from Daphne's guest," she said, as Emma placed a huge platter with the loaves of fresh bread on the table.

"Astoria, dear…?" said Emma. Harry could not have made sense of Emma's question but Astoria understood, perfectly, it seemed.

"You were busy," she said, "I was trying to help out and I knew you really wanted to…"

"So astute, for one so young," said Hugh, visibly pleased to have a daughter so helpful and talented.

"Well, Mr. Greengrass," Harry said, "all I can say at the moment is this is a lot to take in. Yours is the most beautiful farm I've ever seen. How can one family do it all?"

"Hugh," said Hugh. He pointed at the three women. "They all do. No need to confuse me. One family does it all with a lot of help from some very loyal elves, for one thing. It has also been one family doing it all for centuries. Lots and lots of centuries, every generation taking it on, not just doing the basics and keeping the place running, but making a contribution. There is a lot of magic at work. Little, helpful, timesaving things, for the most part. Charms and spells. Some of it is really old. We don't understand it all fully, but it must be very forgiving. Still, we try to mind our manners. Not give offense."

Harry thought back to Hugh's little speech countless times over the years, attributing to Hugh the initial sparking of Harry's own thoughts on magical enterprise, family life and contentment.

Daphne patted her hand on the bench next to her to show Harry where to sit. Astoria got up and moved from what was obviously Emma's chair, and sat on the opposite bench. Hugh took his seat last, put his elbows next to his plate and laced his fingers in front of his face.

"Emma, I am so thankful for you and this meal that you and the elves have made for us, and for our daughters, and your invitation to Harry to join us this evening," Hugh said.

Harry looked down the table at Emma, who was wearing a huge smile.

"I'm thankful for my wonderful family, and the life we have here, and for my brilliant daughters, and our friend Harry," said Emma. "Thank-you for making this all possible, Hugh."

Emma looked at Daphne.

"I'm very thankful Harry was able to join us, and especially thankful Mum was so thoughtful in asking Molly Weasley if we could borrow Harry for a few hours," said Daphne. Harry turned red in the face while Astoria looked like she was about to dissolve into hysterics.

"I'm thankful for the two Harry's," said Astoria, and the rest of the table did dissolve into hysterics, Harry included.

Hugh didn't expect Harry to come up with anything since it was his first experience of sitting with the Greengrass family while they gave thanks in their unique Greengrass way, but Harry did volunteer: "I'm thankful to be made welcome by the Greengrass family."

The stew and fresh bread were good, as was a small green salad that followed, and the strawberries and cream that followed the salad. Hugh and Harry kept coming back to quidditch, while Daphne and Emma kept steering them away from it toward topics of more general interest. No one rushed eating so there was sufficient time for both. As the strawberries reached their end, Emma and the elves had coffee and tea ready. Harry chose tea.

"Need some air, Harry?" Hugh said, standing. Harry grasped Hugh's meaning and agreed that, yes, he'd appreciate a little air with his tea.

Harry was still in his socks, so he wondered how he was going to put his boots back on with a teacup and saucer in his hands, but when they got outside Harry saw that his trainers were back, waiting for him just where he'd left them. They even looked cleaner. Hugh waited for Harry to slide into his shoes, then said, "Let's walk."

They were nearly to the barn before Hugh broke the silence.

"I enjoyed our talk," he began. "Sorry it took so long to get you over. Daphne's been dropping 'Harry Potter' into conversations since you two were eleven. We understood you were more than just acquaintances."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "We are. More, I mean."

"That's fine," said Hugh. "I'm not setting out to embarrass you. Just so you know, I'm very fond of my girls, as lots of dads are, and I'd very much like them not to suffer broken hearts. So if there is any possibility you see of that happening, I'd ask that you think things over very carefully and not let this go any further. If that is in the future, lingering does nothing to make it easier."

Harry walked along in silence, taking a sip of tea now and then. Hugh judged they'd followed the lane far enough and stopped. It was August, and the sky was still not full dark in the west, while one or two stars had come out in the east.

"It's so beautiful here," Harry said. "I'm glad I got to see this. Mr. Greengrass…"

"Hugh, please," said Hugh.

"Hugh, then," Harry said. "I'm a marked man. The most powerful dark wizard in a long, long time is after me. I've faced him more than once and successfully defended myself, but I haven't been able to end it. He thinks he can kill me, or rather he thinks he has to kill me, to carry out his plan to rule magical Britain. I wasn't given a choice but to do everything I can to stop him. Daphne knows this. It doesn't seem to bother her. She must be unique."

That last observation had notes of puzzlement, obvious to Harry even as he spoke. He turned back toward the lights of the house.

"If you don't want your farm identified with me, more than it already is, please say so and I'll keep my distance until the other business is concluded," Harry said. He thought about what he wanted to say, chose his words carefully and said without drama: "You have an obligation to do what you think is best to protect your home and family. I can't think any less of you for coming by that honestly."

Hugh seemed to be walking a little slower. Harry wondered if he had a speech prepared in his mind and needed to carve out the time to deliver it.

"Your mother and father were brave, gallant, even, Harry," said Hugh. "You're a worthy successor. It was and still is shocking for people our age when the memory comes back without warning. Emma came home and broke down after Daphne introduced us in Diagon Alley. The night of the attack, the Potters hadn't been seen for some time and a lot of people assumed they were safely hidden abroad. Later on, word got around that you had survived and were being fostered by relatives. Daphne has passed on some of the things she discovered about your home life. Emma and I would have gladly brought you here, if we'd been given the opportunity. I will go to my grave believing our leaders have incurred an unpayable debt on all the Magicals' behalf for the way you have been treated."

Hugh retreated into his reverie. The Devon countryside at dusk seemed to amplify the sound of shoes on gravel.

"Well, what's your plan? Tell me what you want the Greengrass family to do."

"For me to survive, Voldemort has to go," Harry said. "He believes it has to be that way. My being alive is an insult. It hurts his pride. I'm safe at Hogwarts, but he will keep trying to find a way to get me out in the open so we can go through it all again. Daphne and I are known to be on speaking terms. That caused Draco Malfoy some heartburn a few years ago. Assume the Death Eaters know about the connection. Set your wards. Keep Daphne, Astoria and Tracey safe when they're here."

"Yes, Daphne didn't tell us about what you did until last year," said Hugh. "I don't know if she was embarrassed or if she just thinks Harry Potter took care of it, so why bother the parents? You have our gratitude.

"Well, here we are," said Hugh as they reached the cobblestones. "I've enjoyed our evening together, Harry. We won't wait so long to do it again. Don't hesitate to send me a note by owl if there is anything you need or want us to do. Emma loves to see Hedwig coming in the window. Now, I'll let you two say good-by then one of us will get you back to the Burrow."

Hugh offered Harry his hand, took his cup and saucer and went inside, Daphne popping out of the door before Hugh had a chance to close it.

"So, are you two finished with your negotiations?" Daphne asked, without any preliminaries. Harry thought she sounded a little abrupt.

"For what?" Harry asked.

"Me," she said.

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or protest.

"You? What? How could we negotiate for you?"

"Harry, you have so much to learn about your magical history," Daphne said with a little snicker. "I'll give you a couple of book titles when we get back to Hogwarts."

"Well, Hugh just invited me to say our good-byes, so someone can get me back to the Burrow," Harry said. "So…"

He didn't know whether to hug, offer his hand, give Daphne a peck on the cheek, or something else. Harry was pretty sure Astoria had a perfect sightline from one of the windows.

"Oh…" Daphne caught up to Harry's dilemma. "Here."

She pulled him into her customary bear hug, once again pinning his upper arms to his body.

"See you on the train?" Daphne asked, pressing her cheek against Harry's.

"I hope so," said Harry. "It's a long trip with no company."

Harry felt lips on his ear.

"I'll be there," Daphne whispered, pulling back with a little sigh. "Be safe. Thank-you for coming."

"Thank-you for getting your parents on board," said Harry.

"Oh, they've been looking for an opportunity since end of term," said Daphne. "Finally decided they had to take us seriously."

Harry was speechless for a few seconds, letting 'us' sink in.

"Us…" he repeated, then, very softly, "Daphne."

Hand squeezed hand, and a moment was underlined, alongside the first time Harry referred to them as a couple.

Hugh floo-called the Burrow and arranged for passage through the wards for himself and Harry, enabling them to apparate directly into the Weasley's door-yard. Arthur Weasley waited on the step to greet Hugh and welcome Harry back. Molly came out with some more fresh cookies packed in a parchment folded and tucked like a giant origami. Hugh accepted the gift and took a moment to breathe in deeply.

"Oh, these smell great, Molly," Hugh said. "I wonder how many of these Emma will let me have before bed?"

One uneventful hour later, Harry and Ron turned in. Harry expected to lie awake until midnight or later, remembering every minute of his visit to Flinty Fields, over and over, then thinking about his past encounters with Voldemort, trying to find the gap in the Dark Lord's defenses that would be the key to victory, then putting the terror out of his mind by thinking of Daphne. Actually, Harry was sound asleep five minutes after his head contacted his pillow. Next morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione took their coffee, tea and a jug of cold water out and sat in the early sunshine.

"So?" asked Hermione, not bothering with details.

"Lovely farm. Nice people. Good food," said Harry.

"Yeah, Hermione, what else is there?" Ron asked.

"You are so correct, Ron," Hermione agreed. "You've been entrusted with the Secret of Life."

Ron looked very proud to learn he had been given such a high honor.

"Draco Malfoy is annoying me," Harry added.

"What's he done now?" asked Hermione.

"Was he at Flinty Fields?" Ron continued.

"He was rude to Daphne on multiple occasions," said Harry. "He required correcting on multiple occasions. Soon he will need more correcting, if I am reading the signs right."

Ron and Hermione guessed where Harry was going.

"We don't know…" Ron began.

"I know," said Harry.

"You're guessing, Harry, and this is much too serious for guessing," Hermione said. She thought of a heavy file she had seen at Hagrid's, trying to visualize its fourteen inches of steel in action, replacing her vocal cords. Such mental tricks were surprisingly effective, and both Ron and Harry sat respectfully awaiting her next pronouncement.

"All I'm saying is to be careful. Throwing around accusations you can't back up could be very dangerous under current conditions. You don't want to find yourself having to answer questions before the Wizengamot right now," Hermione said, her remarks concluded.

Harry had formed the opinion that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. He had no hard evidence. Rather, circumstances provided all the indicators he needed to reach his conclusion. Well, Harry thought, if everyone else is waiting around for the incriminating parchment or Dark artifact that will demonstrate Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, Harry Potter would look for the opportunity to grab it and put it on display.

That said, when Hermione Granger made a pronouncement, Harry Potter took heed. He didn't change his mind but he did keep his peace. Harry was onto something, though, as later events would prove. It was too bad he had to go through the conclusion of his return trip to Hogwarts as a condition of sorting clues.

Harry's experiment with going undercover to spy on the car full of Slytherins showed a talent for improvisation and a willingness to take risks. He might have gotten away with it but for Draco's internal state of high alert. Even the disaster of discovery and the unfortunate chain of events that followed contained valuable lessons. Pansy Parkinson's ministrations were not effective diversions sufficient to keep Malfoy preoccupied, for one thing. Harry needed lots of work on silent casting, to name another. He would be well advised not to assign himself tasks without making sure someone would follow up. Tonks' sudden appearance was due to her acting on a hunch, nothing more.

Daphne, of course, had to sit at the Slytherin table throughout the beginning of term feast, looking at Ron, Hermione and Ginny sitting together without Harry. He'd been on the train, Daphne knew, because they had managed to grab a few minutes for a discreet conversation while transiting Yorkshire. Harry wasn't in the castle, then, because there was only one place he'd be and she had it under observation. Daphne was fighting down panic when Harry appeared, delivered by Professor Snape, late, bloody and monumentally downcast. She couldn't know the details, naturally, since they hadn't spoken, but she, like anyone else, could recognize rubble and draw conclusions.

Harry kept away from Daphne as classes began and Hogwarts' rhythms reasserted themselves. They smiled when they made eye contact in the corridors and classrooms but Harry didn't go looking for Daphne outside of class. On Friday of the first week of school, Daphne sought out Hermione in the library.

"I've checked this out, something I promised to flag for Harry," Daphne said. "Can you do me a favor and give it to him? I'll count on him to return it."

"Of course," Hermione said. She noticed something between pages. Hermione's fingernail found the spot and she began to open the volume.

Daphne extended her first finger and gently pressed down, looking straight into Hermione's eyes as she did.

"And should there be anything left in the middle of the book in the way of a personal note for Harry, not saying there is, mind, I'd like to think I can count on your discretion. One witch to another," Daphne said.

"Oh!" said Hermione, turning red. "Oh, I see, of course, then, Daphne. Here…"

Hermione put the book into her book bag, unopened, buckling it closed.

"Thanks, Love," Daphne said, dispensing a delighted smile. Hermione stared at her, struck unresponsive by the sudden transformation of the almost pathologically-plain Daphne.

"Oh, Harry, from Daphne," Hermione said later as she sat near the common room fireplace with Harry and Ron. She opened the flap of her bag and withdrew the book.

"_Marital Contracts of the Wizards_…" Ron began reading from the spine.

"RONALD!" said Hermione, nearly shouting.

"What?" Ron came back. "It's a library book. Not like it's top secret, or anything. If Greengrass can't give it to Harry herself I'm obligated to suspect…"

Ron came to the end of the last link between his logical faculties and ability to run his mouth.

"…something. And investigate BEFORE it gets to Harry."

Hermione turned the book spine-down and handed it on to Harry.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said. "Did you examine it for hexes or demonic possessions, or…?"

"Harry, I wasn't saying Daphne would send demons after you," Ron protested.

"Well, Ron, we just found out you have been neighbors with a family of Slytherin witches and wizards for your entire life, people on good terms with your own parents, and yet you continue to demonstrate you have doubts about Daphne's character," said Hermione. "Do you see any self-contradiction in that?"

Ron stared at her. He was used to Hermione using logic and her insatiable consumption of facts to best him in argument. This was different. Ron trusted his passions, without question. While it might be possible to find a good Slytherin, if one looked, they still had to be distrusted as a group. In Ron's mind it went without saying. He wrestled with Hermione's challenge as long as he could, then gave up, stood, and delivered this short soliloquy:

"G'night, Hermione. See you upstairs, Harry."

With a nod to Harry he was gone.

"Harry…" Hermione began.

Harry looked up, smiling.

"No," he said.

"How do you know what I was going to ask?" Hermione protested.

Harry just held the book up, the spine toward Hermione.

"You wouldn't be able to stop yourself," he said. "Daphne noticed a big gap in my wizarding cultural knowledge, so she promised to give me a little guidance on titles in the library. Looks like she's taking the initiative."

The book kept trying to open where Daphne's piece of note parchment was interleaved.

"Well, for your information, I most certainly did NOT open that book nor did I read anything that might be inside it from the moment I got it from Daphne. Should anyone ask," Hermione said with a huff.

"I am so appreciative," Harry said. "If Daphne were here, I'm sure…"

"Oh, stuff it, Harry Potter," said Hermione. "Now, tell me, so I can go to sleep tonight. Are you and Daphne making plans?"

"That is extremely personal," said Harry. Hermione raised her nose a bit and continued staring into Harry's eyes. "You and I do have some mutual business, though, so I will say this: Daphne and I speak of ourselves as a couple. Did speak. Once. Haven't really been back."

"But Harry, marriage contracts? I'm still learning magical culture, too, but that is medieval," said Hermione. "You aren't going to buy Daphne from her family and turn her into property, are you?"

Hermione's eyes were about to overflow.

"No, this is background," said Harry. "I think. Anyway, we can't make those kinds of plans. Not 'til Voldemort and I have sorted our unfinished business. I talked it over with Hugh, Daphne's father, the night they had me over for dinner."

Hermione took a few moments to absorb all Harry had just said.

"You had a talk with her father? Hugh Greengrass and Harry Potter had a wizard-to-wizard talk on the subject of Hugh's unmarried daughter?"

"Sure," said Harry. "He's concerned about his family, same as any father would be. I understand. The very last thing I want to do is bring trouble on them. I explained Daphne and I both realize this other business isn't over and Voldemort will be trying to get at me again, so all the rest is on hold. We shook hands. He seemed okay with that."

"Well, Harry, that's all fine, but you might have told us," Hermione said. "I mean, if you're engaged…"

"What? Engaged?" sputtered Harry. "Who said…?"

"As you said, this other business, Voldemort, isn't over, Dumbledore has things in motion that you figure in and you have no idea what they are, and Ron and I are in it with you," said Hermione. She took a breath. "Yes, Harry, engaged. You spoke with your girlfriend's father, wizard to wizard, and she's sending you books on marriage contracts. The Greengrass family is hundreds and hundreds of years of tradition so assume, for now, that the time is coming when Hugh Greengrass sits you down to work out the contract you'll both sign setting out the conditions for your marriage. Dowry, specific rights retained by Daphne, the naming of your first-born son, Oh!"

Hermione's eyes were drilling into Harry's.

"Harry Potter you are so frustrating," she stated, as a fact. "You have had five years, the same as I have, to read in and explore your culture, our culture, and you might as well be the muggle-raised first year, spending your time chasing Trevor the toad around the common room, the same as you were on the day of our arrival. I am muggle-raised, Harry, but I know that I don't know, so I WORK at trying to learn and get myself ready for life in my magical community. You need to start doing that, too, immediately.

"One more thing and I'll leave it alone," said Hermione. She slid to the edge of the chair, preparing to stand. "Hogwarts can teach us to transform gerbils into pincushions, defend ourselves in duels and lift up feathers with _wingardium leviosa_. It doesn't do such a good job conveying the norms and expectations of magical society. It's oriented toward magical students from magical families. You and I are on our own. If you want my advice, you'll read that book and come up with questions when you don't understand something. Then you'll ask Daphne to explain it. You're in danger of getting in way, way over your head on this, Harry."

"Oh, well, never been there before," Harry observed.

Hermione considered several options—sticking out her tongue, a punch to his deltoid, those kinds of things. Instead, she just shook her head and left for the stairs with a word: "Tomorrow."

Harry knew he had a Saturday ahead of him so he riffled the pages of the book and found the note from Daphne. She suggested a walk sometime over the weekend, leaving it to Harry to get back with the time and place of meeting. Harry considered Hermione's parting advice and opened to the Table of Contents. Most of the chapter titles were mundane enough – Dowry, for example. A few substituted Latin words for English here and there. Harry wondered what purpose that served. Were they trying to obscure meaning, or were there legal or medical terms for which the Latin was the most precise language? Harry read until his eyes wouldn't stay open, took the library book up to accent his bedside table, and went to sleep.

Harry didn't tell anyone about his enlightening conversation with Hermione, in which he learned that someone looking from the outside might see Harry Potter and Hugh Greengrass discussing long-term plans concerning Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass as the sort of talk young men had with future father-in-laws. Those usually meant, by extension, that the young man and young woman were discussing a future together, which is the last step before the young man asks the young woman to marry him. Alternatively, the young woman gets tired of the wait and asks if the young man intends to marry her, or what?

Hermione certainly didn't tell Ron, or anyone else, about her talk with Harry. That would have been a serious breach of confidentiality since anyone could have intuited quite accurately that Daphne sending Harry a reference on magical marriage contracts indicated they were engaged.

Ron was puzzled as to why Harry needed to read the book in the first place.

Daphne's only potential security breach was asking Hermione to deliver the book without obscuring its contents in some way.

Nevertheless, the walk Harry and Daphne took on Saturday, right after lunch, reinforced the rumors that had been swirling all morning. Two schools of thought emerged almost immediately. One held they were engaged, but Daphne's engagement ring was safe at Flinty Fields Farm. The second maintained they weren't engaged formally because Harry and Hugh had just opened negotiations and they had embargoed any further information until both agreed on the timing and content of the engagement announcement. Thus, without getting engaged at all, Harry managed to bring about the exact situation he'd feared – the Greengrass family, by reason of an acknowledged relationship of some kind between Daphne and himself, could now become a target for persecution by Voldemort's forces.

That wasn't obvious at the time of their walk though, so before anything else, Harry submitted to a long interrogation by Daphne concerning the events following Harry's slipping into the Slytherin-dominated car at the end of the Hogwarts Express.

"Do you require adult supervision, Harry?" Daphne asked. "Answer truthfully, please."

"Not require, exactly…" Harry began before retreating into his own thoughts while he considered his experience through the lens of Daphne's question.

"That's good," Daphne said. "Because that would be a lot of responsibility for someone. How did you slip your restraints to begin with?"

"I was just trying to eavesdrop on Draco," Harry said. "It should have worked. I got careless."

"I won't debate the right or wrong of your basic premise, Harry," said Daphne, "Suffice to say it wasn't worth the risk, as shown by the fallout from your failure. I can't imagine your allies counseled you to go ahead with such a plan when there were other means available to get what you wanted."

Harry walked along, silent.

"Other means?" Harry asked when he'd worked Daphne's statement through.

"What did you want to know?" Daphne asked.

"I suspect Malfoy is a Death Eater," Harry said. "I was just trying to find out."

"That's a perfectly reasonable question, Harry, given your personal stake in the related issues," said Daphne, "But doing everything alone, on impulse, improvising, that is not a reasonable approach to getting an answer. That's just plain dumb, don't you think? Now I suggest we talk about something else so we don't waste this walk. We must use our limited time wisely."

"Good idea," Harry said. "Your book is interesting."

"Mmm…" Daphne responded. "The one from the library?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I stand corrected. The library book is interesting."

"Have you had any conversations, ever, with anyone, about traditional magical courtship and marriage, inheritance, relations between families, any of that?"

"Nope, other than a short chat with Hugh," said Harry. "Although I have grasped it is all different from what I observed at the Dursleys.'"

That got to Daphne, completely changing the mood, very much for the better.

"Hermione got in my face last night, when she gave me the book," Harry said. "She advised me Hugh didn't just chat up the poor boy guest at his dinner table. The larger meaning. Something I didn't realize. I'm supposed to read lots and bring any questions to you. According to Hermione."

"That's a smart witch, Harry," said Daphne. "I'm glad you've got her close at hand there in Gryffindor. She's an excellent resource and you must never take her lightly. What questions have you come up with so far?"

"I guess the obvious one would be, do I buy you from Hugh? Or Hugh and Emma?"

"You're thinking ahead to some future date when you've talked to me about life together, my expectations and yours, you've told me you love me and I've told you I love you…?"

"Ah, I guess, yes, although I hadn't thought about it just like that," Harry managed.

"Because we can talk about magical customs and traditions and how families work to get various things done, including marriage and inheritance and all that, and not talk about us," Daphne said. "If you want to talk about us and not in general we need to be very clear with each other. Do you understand? It sounds to me like you are thinking about us as a couple with plans, leading to engagement, negotiations between our families, marriage and a lifetime together. If I'm mistaken please tell me."

"Gosh, Daphne, you know how to paint a picture, were you aware of that?" Harry asked.

"So, is that what you were thinking of or did I read too much into your question?" asked Daphne. "Just so I know."

"I wouldn't have said it exactly like that, but, the way you describe it, that is the picture I had in mind," said Harry.

"Well, then, just so we are agreed, you, Harry Potter, see me, Daphne Greengrass, as your future wife and partner in all things from the day of our marriage until death?" Daphne asked.

"I…Yes, I do," said Harry. "I wonder how long this has been going on?"

"In my opinion, Harry, there isn't any specific moment it starts," said Daphne. "It's more bits and pieces over time, months, maybe years. I wasn't aware it was coming on, at all, and then, one day, it was just there. I suspect you're the same."

They walked along, silent, both happy to be with the other but not seeing any reason to babble on and on.

"Tell me about magical proposals," Harry said. "That's a good place to start. Do families actually sell their daughters? Because that is how your book made it sound."

"No, see, this is why we need to talk about all this," said Daphne. "It's not only the specifics of you and me. You need to know this as a field, just to navigate magical society. Take your time, make up your mind you're not going to quit and walk away from the subject. The traditions show up everywhere, in everything. In the old days, two families might take all the guesswork out of it, especially if they had an heir to marry off, and just commit the children early on. Much of our economic life gets determined by inheritance so it was crucial to marry the heir to someone who at minimum wouldn't be a drain on the family, and at best would bring her own capital to the table. Then there is family magic. Greengrass is a lifelong study. What do you think that means?"

"No idea," said Harry.

"There's school magic, which is just enough to get seventh-year NEWTS to the point where they can actually begin to learn the real stuff," Daphne said. "Don't look shocked. Anyone who is struggling to master matchsticks and darning needles might as well accept the idea their career path is going to involve magical cleaning or water boiling for tea. Here's why: Every magical family has its own magic. The most powerful, successful families have brilliant witches and wizards all over their family trees, people who did their own research and experiments, increasing not only their personal power but passing along what they learned to their children and grandchildren. Families forged strategic alliances, bringing in a young witch or wizard with a family background that was a complement to their own, expanding areas of competence, refreshing what had gone stale, all with the idea that added strength benefited all the members of both families. Magical society elevated collective good to a much higher place in the ladder of virtues than the muggles did. The two societies just evolved in different directions."

"I don't think there is any Potter magic," muttered Harry.

"Of course there is," said Daphne. "You don't know anything about it because you were orphaned before your father could pass the knowledge along. There is Evans family magic, too, I'd wager, or your mother wouldn't have become the powerful witch that she did. I strongly suspect she was working on discovering what the Evans magic was all about before she died. Make it a priority to find your family grimoire. It's probably in your family vault at Gringotts. I saw volumes in there. Those aren't moldy antiques you can wand down a magical dump pit to make room in the vault. You'll need to have some idea what you've got to work with if you and Hugh get to the point of sitting down to make a deal for me."

"You make it sound like buying a cow!" Harry exclaimed.

"But it's not!" Daphne laughed. "Witches and wizards are a minority, a very small one. They always have been. Keeping magical life going means hoarding resources. Economic resources. Magical resources. Ideally, the negotiators for the two families sit down and look for a result that benefits both. Of course, each principal puts his own family's interests first, and one can have a lot more negotiating skill than the other so there can be lopsided outcomes. Ideally, the goal is to have both families in a more favorable position after the marriage than before. If the couple is content together, so much the better, but that is a secondary consideration."

"I'll take your word for it," said Harry. There was a gap of a minute or more before Harry said, "What's a grimoire?"

"The Potter family will have a book that people have added to over the years," Daphne began. "Stories about distinguished members, family magic, maybe some things not to be shared outside the family, potion formulas. If a family has a tradition of writing extensive histories or documenting members' participation in public life the grimoire can fill a shelf full of books. They're too important to risk getting burned up in a fire so most families keep the working copy at home and store the rest."

Silence fell again.

"Next time I'm in Gringotts…" Harry said. "So much information. I guess, over a lifetime, magical couples have to master both families' magic?"

"Not so much master," said Daphne. "As I understand it, they need to guard against catastrophic reactions between the two, above all else. Should that happen, everything else becomes irrelevant, doesn't it? On the other hand, there can be areas where the two are compatible, each supporting and reinforcing the other, making something stronger together than they are separately. Like marriage is supposed to be.

"Think about it, long and hard," said Daphne. "If it's too much for you, we haven't gone too far to turn back. If you change your mind, though, just look me in the eye and tell me, please? Let's respect one another enough to do that."

Harry struggled to take in everything Daphne had told him. The last comment, and her request, hit him like a blow. For some reason, he thought of Buttercup turning and giving little Harry the bull calf a firm push to get him in position to take his lunch. Harry started to laugh.

"So much to learn," he said, giddy. "How will I ever…?"

"That's what my uncle meant," said Daphne, "That's the short version, from a very practical man, even if he is a wizard. No one of us will ever get to the end of it. Our forebears live on in us, we use the family magic we got from them as a gift, free and clear, and we leave that for our children and grandchildren to use after we're gone from the scene. If there is anything more to life than that I don't know what it would be."

Daphne's walk-long survey and overview of magical marriage and family life became the foundation stones of Harry's understanding of those subjects. He resolved to follow the guidance he'd received and become a serious student of magical culture. He'd spent roughly ten formative years as a wizard adrift in muggle-dom, so he was only ten years behind. All he had to do was survive any further encounters with Voldemort. With some hard work he would make up the ground.

Harry's sixth magical academic year got underway in earnest. Everyone was incredibly busy. Dumbledore dispensed bits of information, finally taking Harry into his confidence and relating the story of how he came to discover that Voldemort was creating multiple horcruxes, seeking immortality. This threw the struggle with Voldemort into a completely unexplored dimension. Wizardkind had no experience coping with a psychopath with such extensive protection. That Voldemort would continue to hunt Harry Potter was a given. Until Harry and his associates destroyed the horcruxes, they couldn't rid the world of Voldemort because he would neither go away quietly nor stay dead.

Despite Harry's obsessive effort to prove Draco Malfoy was involved in some nefarious activity, proof remained just out of reach. Dumbledore appeared to get weaker and weaker. By spring he was barely a presence at Hogwarts. Harry rationed meetings with Daphne. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson all had easy access to her in Slytherin. Even though he hadn't heard of any pattern of intra-house physical abuse, Harry still thought his theory held. Daphne, Astoria, Tracey and Flinty Fields Farm were all potential targets if Voldemort gave the order.

Everything imploded on the astronomy tower, of course. The opening shot of the Second Wizarding War came from the wand of Severus Snape. An indeterminate period of death and destruction lay ahead, and everyone seemed to feel it.

Harry was proud and grateful for Dumbledore's Army. They'd come out very well from the fight with the Death Eaters. The DA credited their survival to Harry's gift of _felix felices_. Harry found Regulus' note in the counterfeit locket. He went into a period of depression at the thought Dumbledore had sacrificed himself for nothing. Leadership of the opposition passed to Minister Scrimgeour, an effective auror but questionable as a strategist, and certainly no scholar. What means did he plan to bring to bear against Voldemort and the Dark Army?

Harry didn't feel like it but he mingled with the guests after Dumbledore's funeral service. He tired of the trite comments very early on. Hermione slid up next to him and took Harry's arm.

"Someone over here," she said, giving a vague head toss in the direction of the castle.

"Who?" Harry asked as they left behind the last clump of well-wishers.

"No one," Hermione said. "I could just read your face. No good purpose would be served by standing there watching while your rage boiled over."

"Brilliant, as always," Harry said. "I was just about there."

"I know you were," muttered Hermione. "Save it. I think we're going to need it, very soon."

They walked up the steps and through the front doors. The great hall had a single table in place, the others removed to make room for guests. The benches were occupied mainly by elderly witches and wizards taking a rest from the exertion and emotion of the funeral.

"Daphne," said Harry, gesturing with his chin.

"Go ahead," said Hermione. "I'll see you upstairs."

Harry walked over to where the Greengrass family stood, along with Tracey Davis.

"Harry," they all said, more or less together. There wasn't a lot more to say.

"Everyone," Harry managed to say before he broke. Everything he had tamped down fought to get out at once. Emma Greengrass, surprisingly, got to him first. She pulled Harry close and wrapped him in her arms, one hand moving up to bend his head down so she could whisper just for him.

"Let it out, Harry, go ahead," she began. "You've done so well, and you're going to keep on, aren't you? Your mother is very proud of you. You're brave, and powerful, and you trained your fighters and took care of everyone. You did it all, and you just need to believe you'll get everything you're struggling for."

That was as far as Emma got and Harry heard her words stop, replaced by sniffles.

"Thank-you," Harry said as he slowly extracted himself from Emma.

"Sorry," he said.

Daphne had a tissue ready.

"Here," she said as she handed it over before wrapping her other arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him close. "And don't be ridiculous. Heroes have to cry sometimes."


	7. Chapter 7

**Acknowledgement: **_I claim nothing in this fanfiction. JK Rowling owns it all, as is only right._

**Year Seven**

**We Can Finally Look Ahead**

"I need to visit Gringotts," Harry said to Lupin. He had pulled his former teacher aside to get a little privacy, outside the hearing of the crowd inside the Weasleys' home.

It sounded odd, given the circumstances. It even sounded odd to Harry. The dash from the Dursleys' to the Burrow, Mundungus Fletcher losing his nerve and abandoning Mad Eye Moody, losing Hedwig, an altogether bad job. What in Merlin's name was Harry doing thinking about banking at a time like that?

"Harry, we've got a lot on our plates right at the moment," protested Lupin. "Can't this wait until a more appropriate time?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I'm going to need something that's in the Potter vault, I'm sure of it. I need to get it out."

"What do you want?" Lupin asked. "We'll arrange for someone to get you one and bring it to you."

"Wouldn't work," Harry shook his head. He looked around and spoke just for Lupin. "I need the Potter grimoire. I can't say just why except that I have to read in. Someone has to have had some similar problem at some time. Can you think of a way to get me in?"

Lupin didn't look very positive, but he nodded.

"Let me get back to you," he said.

Getting into Gringotts wasn't the challenge Lupin anticipated, once he discussed the problem with Tonks. She maintained cordial relations with the goblins of Gringotts because the bank figured, one way or another, in so many investigations. She got word to Ragnak, the director, that she would like to pay a call. She didn't say it was official, but neither did she say that it wasn't.

Ragnak, like all bankers, treated law enforcement personnel with respect. Banks, after all, depend on the civil authorities to keep the tides of corruption and mayhem from their peripheries so they can do an honest day's banking. It's a kind of symbiosis.

Tonks spent much of her time transforming her features, either for official, cover reasons, or because it amused her. She had no trouble doing a little wand work and changing Harry's looks just enough to make him look vaguely Mediterranean. She gave his wild hair a little curl, put him in a business suit and gave him a slim leather briefcase to carry, took his glasses and changed his eyes from green to brown. They walked up to the front door and were met by Ragnak's assistant, who conveyed them to the director's private office.

"Director," Tonks began.

"Auror Tonks," growled Ragnak. "I recognize our guest. Please explain, if you can."

"Very astute, sir," Tonks said, bowing. "A simple visit to the family vault. Current conditions out there on the street…"

"Understood," said Ragnak. "Perhaps not the way I would have done it, but no harm."

He turned to Harry.

"You have achieved your majority?"

"Yes, sir, July thirty-first," said Harry.

Ragnak nodded.

"I realize you're very busy at the moment, Mr. Potter, but when things settle down a bit you really must come in so Gringotts can brief you on some business matters. You are the head of the Potter family, with the usual rights and responsibilities."

Ragnak picked up what looked to Harry like a small bell and gave it a shake. The bell sound came out like a hammer pounding out steel on an anvil. Harry must have reacted.

"Just a little goblin humor," Ragnak said with a pointy-tooth showing grin, turning the visitors over to his assistant.

Harry invited Tonks inside when they had gotten down to the Potter vault. Harry looked and saw his envelope on the shelf where he'd left it when he'd been there with Daphne. Other than that one quick look he went straight to the old leather-bound books Daphne had brought to his attention when they'd discussed family magic.

"What are we looking for?" Tonks asked.

"The Potter grimoire," said Harry, "But I've got a problem."

"And that is…?" Tonks asked.

"These are all Potter grimoires," Harry said. "Then there are these. What's this name?"

Tonks took a look.

"Peverell," she said. "I don't think there are any Peverells left. They were a famous wizarding family, stuff of legend, you could say, but there aren't any Peverells around that I know of. If the end of a line was a witch it's possible her family grimoires passed to her descendants. Maybe she married a Potter."

Harry, looking for the current Potter grimoire, became more and more frustrated. Time was passing, and they really needed to be going. Frustrated, he took the most recent volume, whose last entry was dated well back into the nineteenth century. Something caught Harry's eye as he strode toward the vault door. He reached out for an impressive velvet-covered box, took it down from its shelf and opened it. Inside was a heavy gold ring with an inset crest. Harry looked at the assistant.

"Let's see," said the goblin, gesturing to Harry to bring the ring into some better light.

"It's yours, milord," he said. "It is a token of your office. You are the Potter."

Harry looked at Tonks and removed the ring from the box. She nodded.

Harry slipped the ring on the third finger of his right hand and felt it adjust its size.

A dozen voices called out 'Huzzah' and 'About time, for Merlin's sake' and 'Well done, lad' from the portraits hung about the vault. Harry turned and held up his hand for the portraits to see, then bowed. Something stirred inside him and Harry thought he'd better leave his ancestors with a little valedictory.

"However this finishes, he will know what it means to provoke the Potters," he said, to more shouts of encouragement. Slipping the grimoire into his attaché Harry exited the vault. A portrait of a witch dressed in a fairly recent style hung near the door. She gave Harry a wink as he passed.

"Look up Desdemona," she said and gave Harry a nod.

Decades later Daphne was still saying she thought she had aged ten years during the nine months of her truncated seventh year at Hogwarts School.

She had been standing on the periphery of the crowd dancing in celebration at the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacours when Kingsley Shacklebolt's patronus arrived with news of the Death Eaters' assault and capture of the Ministry of Magic in London. Her father and mother grabbed Daphne and Astoria and disapparated, just as the first Death Eaters began materializing, arriving back at Flinty Fields Farm none the worse for wear. Daphne's last memory of the Burrow was a collage of Ginny Weasley drawing her wand and casting something, Ron and Hermione with a fistful each of Harry's robe, and Harry twisting his head around with a frantic look on his face. After that she'd heard nothing from her intended for seventy-two hours, then nothing for three months.

Voldemort and his minions were thorough, quickly establishing which civil servants could be turned to serve the Dark Lord faithfully, then using the resources of the ministry to identify likely targets for extortion of funds or other goods or services.

Hugh and Emma Greengrass were preparing to send Daphne and Astoria to Beauxbatons for the year, before Severus Snape called on Hugh at Flinty Fields and convinced him he could keep the girls safe at Hogwarts. They had impeccable pedigrees and were members of Slytherin House. As such they would be under Snape's protection. Snape even went as far as to say that he would personally be in Hugh and Emma's debt if the girls came back to Hogwarts, as he feared the Dark Lord's wrath if there were to be a mass exodus of pureblood students. The Dark Lord, after all, was going to a great deal of trouble to lift pureblood witches and wizards to the apex of the human pyramid. It would be nice if the Dark Lord had the support of the very people for whom he was putting such a load on his time and resources.

Hugh and Emma went back and forth on the issue, several times. There were political changes afoot, that went without question. Things were looking very different around the ministry, from what they had heard. Still, their lives centered on a farm in Devon, a long way from London and all the political foolishness. They had both been at school at the same time as Severus Snape. They knew him from the Slytherin common room. Horace Slughorn was coming back and he had been head of house during Hugh and Emma's time there. If Daphne could finish her seventh year at Hogwarts, it would make sense for Astoria to attend as well.

After the brawl at the wedding, Harry, Ron and Hermione had holed up at #12 Grimmauld Place, laying low and trying to sort out what had happened. Harry was desperate to get word to Daphne that he was well, if shaken a bit, and to find out how she and her family were. He worried the problem for three days, even when he was going over the knowns and unknowns again with Ron and Hermione.

He hit upon a means of communicating that he thought would be secure, only executing it after he'd put it to his team.

"POP" sounded in Daphne's bedroom. She sat straight up in bed, wand pointed at the elf that stood on her dresser.

"Message?" pleaded the elf, holding up a folded piece of parchment.

"Aren't you Dobby?" Daphne asked.

"Yes, Miss Daphne, I've been sent. He asked me not to use names unless it is absolutely necessary."

"That's alright, Dobby, there's no need. Bring it here," said Daphne, lowering her wand and motioning for Dobby to come over by her bed. Dobby, of course, simply transported himself by some elfish means and went from the marble dresser top to Daphne, where he presented his message.

Daphne unfolded the parchment and started to read:

"Ron, Hermione and I are fine. Can't floo because the network is monitored. Same for a floo call. I need to know if you are safe. One word Yes/No to the elf. He'll let me know. Don't be holding this in your hand 1 minute after opening."

Daphne looked through tears at Dobby.

"Yes," she said, and Dobby disapparated with another "POP."

Daphne got out of bed and threw the parchment into the grate in her small fireplace. She nearly kissed it but was relieved she'd skipped that symbolic and sentimental act when the parchment burst into flames seconds after she let it go.

Daphne grabbed a bathrobe from the foot of her bed and put it on over her pajamas. She was wearing her favorite set, a top and bottom that had once been flannel but now had most of the fuzz worn down to thread, the top missing two buttons. Daphne turned one-quarter left and disapparated.

Harry was sitting on top of his bed at #12 Grimmauld Place, just beginning his de-briefing of Dobby when Daphne appeared at the foot with a loud 'POP.'

"What? Daphne…how? I took two days setting up that delivery, no one knows…DAMN!"

"Glad to see me, aren't you, Potter?" Daphne asked, trying to look like she could tell.

"NO! Dammit, yes, yes, of course I am, but what are you doing here? We're hiding out for a reason, the Death Eaters came after us at the wedding, then in a little coffee joint afterwards…"

"So, you ARE glad to see me, aren't you?"

"You keep asking, of course I am."

"I know," Daphne said with a little leer. She reached out and hooked an arm around Dobby, pulling her to him for a noisy kiss on his red, wrinkled forehead. "You can wait for a few minutes, can't you, Dobby? Master Harry will call when I'm gone."

Dobby popped outside Harry's room to await the promised summons.

"What do you mean you know?" Harry asked.

"I'm a farm girl, Harry Potter, and the last time I saw one of those in that state it was putting a smile on Buttercup's Red Devon face. It started Little Harry that very day, as a matter of fact. Now, are you going to listen?"

Harry looked down at the lump beneath his waistband. He was sitting on top of his bed in his underwear, cross-legged and the darn thing really showed up.

"Well, of course," the now-blushing Harry said, standing. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the back of a nearby chair and pulled them on over his shorts, gaining a little of his modesty back. Daphne gave him a wink.

"Better?" Harry demanded. Daphne smirked just a tiny bit.

"No, but under the current circumstances, certainly wiser," she said. "Now, Harry, we've both attained our majorities, so we are a bit freer than we were just a short time ago. I followed Dobby here, he had no idea, so don't punish him. Just a little-known trick embedded in Greengrass family magic. Close your mouth. Remember I advised you it's a lifelong study, so don't go getting all distracted every time you encounter some.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts," Daphne continued. "So's Tracey. So's Astoria. Hogwarts and Snape's regime will figure in your fight, one way or another, so you're going to need a network inside to keep you informed. Leave that to me. Don't reach out. I'll figure out how to get to you. Be thinking of what you want in terms of information. Got to go."

"We need to talk," Harry protested. "We need more time. We have to…"

"Can't right now," Daphne said. "Dobby's trail will be fading and I have to follow it back home. I don't want to know where we are. That way I can't give it up. Let me work with you, Harry. We'll kill that son of a bitch and then we can be together."

Daphne grabbed his shirt in her fist and pulled Harry close, kissed him full on the lips before pulling back, glancing down and giving his still-prominent lump a good looking-over.

"I've never done it, myself, but I've seen Buttercup and her beau going at it, and it really doesn't look that difficult."

Daphne was laughing out loud when she disapparated from Harry's room at #12 Grimmauld Place, leaving with a 'POP' and just a whiff of her bath soap.

Someone knocked on Harry's door. He hadn't heard any crashing or banging outside so he assumed #12 hadn't been raided.

"Come in," he said. Ron and Hermione entered, Dobby and Kreacher peeking around the jamb.

"What…? We heard…or thought we did," said Ron and Hermione as part of a jumbled sequence of interrogatives.

"Daphne," Harry said. "Something or some way I don't really understand. Maybe I can get her to teach me someday. Anyway, she's going back to Hogwarts, along with Astoria and Tracey. Great."

Harry was tempted to kick something but he was barefoot.

"Harry, you have got to get control of that—" Ron began.

"Shut it, Ronald," said Hermione. "For Merlin's sake, Daphne is risking her life coming here. Get out from under your prejudices so you can see things with some objectivity for a change."

Ron looked chastened, a bit.

"I'm just saying, she is in Slytherin, they're allies of Snape, Snape is obviously a Death Eater, and he murdered Dumbledore…" said Ron as if he were reading a list.

"Right, who needs a coffee or tea?" Harry asked, leading the way out into the hallway. "Kreacher! Drink orders. Coffee for me…"

"In the study, please, Kreacher," Harry said, determined to control his reactions to Kreacher's comments and observations about the three of them.

"Kreacher will serve the mudblood, the vile half-blood and the blood traitor as Master requests, of course, in the study," Kreacher said, disappearing into the kitchen and returning to the study off the main hall almost immediately. He carried two carafes, which he placed on a sideboard, then snapped his fingers to materialize three delicate bone china cups and saucers, all with substantial chips in their rims or showing cracks or both.

"The better china, please, Kreacher," said Harry, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "These can be disposed of as you see fit. The House of Black will be the most gracious and hospitable establishment in London, if doing so exhausts you and me both."

Hermione thought Kreacher betrayed just a little improvement in his disposition when Harry spoke positively about the House of Black. That bore further observation. Taking her new teacup and saucer, Hermione held it under her nose and sniffed. The aroma was exquisite. She had to give credit where it was due: Kreacher got tea right. Hermione wanted to compliment the elf on his tea-brewing skills but feared some perverse effect if she, the mudblood, said anything positive to him.

Once the study door was locked and Hermione had cast her best _muffliato_, Harry shared his thoughts about the coming campaign with his closest comrades.

"We'll need to know what's going on inside the castle," he said. "A trusted reporter who can speak freely. Internally, the people known to be our allies are going to be vulnerable. I have to try to get someone to watch their backs. Who knows? They might even be able to help us locate the remaining horcruxes."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Ron.

Harry thought, then thought some more.

"What I have in mind right this minute is to stop talking," Harry said as he picked up his coffee cup.

The next debrief took place in a tent in the Forest of Dean, with two effectives and one casualty in attendance.

"Much went right," said Hermione.

"Too much went wrong," said Harry.

"My arm," groaned Ron.

"Hermione says your arm is going to be fine, Ron," said Harry. "Take her word for it, because she really is that good. We now have a horcrux. That's good. We don't have a means to destroy it, or so it seems."

"That's bad," said Ron and Hermione together.

"Probably," said Harry. "But we live and learn, don't we? Find the means to destroy this horcrux, we find the means to destroy the rest of them. What's bad will eventually be good."

By the time Ron felt the need for a hiatus from horcrux hunting, being a fugitive and living rough, Harry had had enough time to think through another problem. He was completely blind to the current status and thinking of the force he was opposing. He had plenty of people willing to collaborate on the inside at Hogwarts, of course, but he had neither organization nor means of communicating.

At the beginning of their sixth year, Harry and Dumbledore had lurched their way into a solution to the problem of Kreacher's initial rebellion against becoming Harry's elf at #12 Grimmauld Place. They sent him to join the Hogwarts elves, which gave him something useful to do while re-socializing him after his years of solitude with only Walburga Black's portrait for company. Even though Kreacher refused to make peace with his new master, who he invariably referred to with some variation on 'the vile half-blood,' Harry was having some success with positive reinforcement. Almost against his will, Kreacher felt much less hostile when Harry did or said things that reflected positively on the Black family or #12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry sat outside the tent, back against a tree, casting the minimum warming charm he could to stay warm. He didn't really mind taking the watch. Hermione was getting tired of living rough. Let her sleep. Harry could just hear her breathing. When he judged it regular enough, he counted to sixty, five times, before he spoke.

"Kreacher, come here," Harry said. The elf appeared before him, half-naked in the December moonlight.

"Kreacher, thank-you for coming," Harry began.

"Kreacher must obey the vile half-blood and deserves no thanks for doing his duty," Kreacher replied.

"Are you warm enough? Do you have an elvish warming charm you can deploy?"

"Kreacher's comfort is not a concern for his master. It is unseemly for one in his position…"

"Kreacher, no matter what you think of me, you represent the House of Black," Harry said.

That got Kreacher's attention and he stood up straight in something like attention.

"It is most unseemly for my representative to be appearing before the young witches at Hogwarts in that kind of garb," Harry said, nodding at Kreacher's worn-out towel that barely covered him from waist to knees. "I can't give you anything to wear, which I understand, so I will make a suggestion. If you wish to represent the House of Black you must at all times present an image worthy of my illustrious predecessors. There are always towels being left behind in the showers and baths at Hogwarts. They are almost never claimed. You could, if you truly wanted to present a favorable image for the House of Black, find two with no names on them and see that they are washed and ironed. Keep them in your quarters for two days. If none of the students ask for them, then they are abandoned, aren't they? No one gave them to you. With a little needlework charm you would have yourself a respectable garment to wear."

Kreacher thought it over.

"The half-blood is correct," he allowed.

"If you needed to approach Miss Daphne, for some reason, you would be much more welcome if properly attired," Harry said. "Miss Daphne Greengrass is a pureblood witch with very proper manners and sensitivities, the kind of witch you yourself would be proud to call Mistress. The kind you could devote yourself to for a lifetime. Have you seen her about Hogwarts?"

"Kreacher has seen Miss Daphne, yes," said the elf. He was steeling himself, but some excitement was coming through.

"I can't be there myself, of course, so I am expecting you to be vigilant and alert me if there are any threats to Miss Daphne, or her sister, or Miss Tracey. You must be very careful and not call attention to Miss Daphne," Harry said. "That might endanger her under current conditions."

Kreacher was wrestling. His late mistress had enthused over Voldemort and transmitted that to Kreacher. Now, however, Kreacher worked inside Hogwarts and saw witches and wizards who had given no offense that he could see, being severely punished. Kreacher had a sense of justice, even if he was an elf and subservient by nature.

"If you see Miss Daphne, and you are alone, Kreacher, only if you are alone, I need you to do something for me. Just say one word to her: _Nobiscum_. Don't refer to me or say I sent the message."

Kreacher looked at Harry.

"Kreacher does not understand…"

"I know," said Harry. "That is for your protection. Miss Daphne will know. It will make her heart glad. I can promise you, Miss Daphne will be very grateful to you for the gift of that one word. We'll speak again, I promise. You are doing well."

Kreacher disapparated with a 'POP' that Harry worried would wake Hermione. There was no change in her breathing, though, so he returned to thinking through their problems.

One thing Harry needed to do, if it could be done without fear of discovery, was to talk to Daphne. He had a list of things he needed to dump on her.

Who were the committed Death Eaters among the new faculty? Were the DA members sticking together? Were any of them being singled out for persecution? In the event of a fight, who would be loyal to Voldemort? Who would fight against the Dark Army? How many would try to stay neutral?

Getting answers to those questions was critical to success if and when it came to a fight. Even if he'd still had Hedwig, she was so identifiable he would have been afraid to use her to take messages in and out. Harry needed a safe means of communication in and out of Hogwarts. Not to mention the Ministry, and the circle around Voldemort. Harry assumed defeating Voldemort would mean taking the two institutions, Hogwarts and the Ministry, one at a time, then shaking out the reliables from the compromised, then getting the Dark Army out on the plain while the Order and the DA held the high ground.

"All Gaul is divided in three parts," Harry thought. "But Julius Caesar did not face a general with horcruxes that need finding and destroying."

Ron chose to take his time off from the quest when the frustrations began to pile up. He let the setbacks get to him and when it all came to a head, he left to try the life of a fugitive on his own. Meanwhile, back at the tent, Harry and Hermione continued with the hard work of collecting the information that they hoped would lead them to the remaining horcruxes. They were methodical in their approach, always giving due consideration for security. Their Christmas research trip to Godric's Hollow made sense up to the point where Nagini the snake revealed she was animating the corpse of Bathilda Bagshot.

If Harry and Hermione had managed to kill Nagini in Godric's Hollow the expedition would have been a great success. As it was, Harry thought the most favorable assessment was a draw. The worst piece of luck was the loss of Harry's wand. The best was the valuable intelligence they'd collected on Gellert Grindelwald. Harry sorted through what they'd learned and tried to put it together. The puzzle was filling in but finding pieces was heartbreakingly slow.

Still, December was not a complete waste. Ron came back, pulled Harry out of the frozen pool, and destroyed the locket with Godric Gryffindor's sword. Ron and Hermione continued staging drama classes in their spare time. Harry kept puzzling over his unknowns. He started to devote more time to the study of his Potter grimoire. He found the pages on Desdemona.

Harry had been unaware of the phenomenon of the grimoire until Daphne explained it to him. Without the context of his personal family history and the existence of family magic, Harry had difficulty making sense of much of what he read. He enjoyed the essays that shed light on his ancestors and the times in which they lived. Much of the magic, the spells, formulas, and rituals, was completely above his head. His first reading of the Potter grimoire was cursory. He looked for the personal entries, observations of current events, and, particularly, anything that related to his forebears.

He found the first reference to Desdemona in one of the personal notes. Desdemona was a demon. Harry knew demons weren't to be taken lightly. Still, it sounded like Desdemona had not been a problem for Potters. Harry went through the grimoire, page by page, until he found the ritual for summoning Desdemona. It didn't look difficult.

"Anyone have any experience with demons?" Harry asked one evening. It was relatively warm and they were all outside the tent. Hermione had blessed the lighting of a small fire to cheer things up after she and Ron had conducted a wide-ranging security check.

Ron just looked at Harry.

"No," said Hermione, before she started to laugh. "No," she said a second time.

"Because I think I may have access to one," Harry said. "An ally."

"Harry, I don't think demons ally with wizards," said Ron. "Or any other kind of humans, for that matter."

"Ron is right, Harry," said Hermione. "I've never read…"

"Sure, I don't take anything away from your reading, but do you have any experience?" Harry asked.

"No," said Hermione. She looked at Ron, who shook his head.

"Well, I've been studying my family grimoire, barely scratched the surface. It's the most recent of the ones I found in the Potter vault. Unfortunately, the last page is from 1870, and I couldn't find another volume after that," Harry said.

"All well and good, Harry, but how does it help us?" asked Hermione.

"Good question," said Harry, "And the answer is I'm not sure just yet. However, as Tonks and I were walking out the door, a portrait just inside advised me to look up Desdemona. I've found her. She did a huge favor for a Potter back in the day. I haven't worked out the years and the genealogy completely, but I think I might be here as a direct result. I was thinking of asking if she is still interested in going on little adventures with the Potters."

Ron poked a stick into the fire while he waited for Hermione to speak. His own thoughts being so inchoate right then, he knew he had no chance of saying anything helpful. Hermione really wanted to defer to Ron, the one with the lifetime exposure to wizarding society, but he didn't seem capable. Reluctantly, Hermione took the lead.

"Harry, demons are a bad idea," she said. "Look where we are. If things get out of control, where will we go for help? Who will you call in the ministry to come rid your campsite of a troublesome demon?"

"Well, that's something we'd have to plan for," said Harry, adding, "Obviously."

"Three of us, one demon?" Ron pointed out.

"Could be four, possibly," said Harry. In for a penny…

"Four?" said Ron and Hermione in unison.

"I might be able to get Daphne," Harry said.

"How?" demanded Hermione.

"I can summon Kreacher," Harry said. "I asked for him one night on watch, and we had a little chat. He was tasked with delivering a short message for me, in my capacity of the head of the House of Black. It's been a few days and he hasn't led the snatchers to us yet, although I admit I've been much more alert since."

"Harry," Ron said, "Could you have brought it up before you did it? Was it a little impulsive to just go ahead?"

"Well, Ron, you weren't here, and Hermione was behind some very effective concealment charms…"

Hermione had to stifle a laugh.

"Gotcha, Ron," she observed.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "I'm digging myself out of that hole a little at a time, I hope."

"Hey, you picked up the sword and destroyed the locket," said Harry. "That's a lot of dues paid. Not to mention jumping into the water, in the dark, and getting me out from under the ice."

Ron seemed mollified when Harry finished.

"The thing is, I sent Kreacher back with one word, Nobiscum, which he was to deliver to Daphne when they were alone," Harry went on. "I thought and thought about how to get a message to her. We know she can follow elves via apparation. I can summon Kreacher. She knows, or should know by now, that Kreacher has seen me, because of the message I sent. That wouldn't mean anything to anyone besides Daphne and the three of us, so even if it's overheard it doesn't lead back here."

Ron and Hermione shared a look.

"I don't see any flaws in your reasoning, Harry," said Hermione. "What do you want Daphne to do, and how are you going to protect her?"

"I need some help with this family magic," Harry said, holding up the grimoire. "The second part is harder. Kreacher can get her out of the castle and back with elf magic. Every minute she is gone, though, the risk of detection increases. Haven't figured that out yet. I'm open for suggestions."

No one came up with an answer before they agreed to put out their fire and sleep on the problem. Harry spent his hours on watch thinking about the structure of Hogwarts castle, trying to remember every detail of every route in and out that he had discovered in his six years in residence. Each avenue of approach had its virtues, but each had its drawbacks as well. The risk to Daphne always seemed too great to take the chance.

Later, when Ron had relieved him, Harry lay on his cot in the tent and tried to organize his thoughts, which kept switching from demons to elves of questionable loyalty to Daphne to family magic to demons.

"What?" the woman asked.

Harry looked her in the eye.

"I don't know," said Harry. "Yet. I don't know yet."

"Then why do you think I'm the solution to your problem?"

Desdemona. Her name was Desdemona.

"Yes, it's Desdemona," she said. "You summoned me. What. Do. You. Want?"

"I haven't summoned you, yet," Harry protested. "I just learned about you, from one of the portraits. She told me to look you up in the grimoire, and I did. You helped a Potter out one time, and we thought you might be interested in doing something again. We're working on…"

"For all the Immortals' sake, Harry Potter, just shut it. Logorrhea runs in your family, were you aware?" Desdemona asked. "I know what you're working on. You have something like a one in ten chance in succeeding, if I'm feeling generous. Do you have any idea what you would like me to do?"

"I don't have any idea what you can do," said Harry. "If I summon you…"

"You did summon me," said Desdemona, "You said my name. I came running. That's what good old reliable Desdemona does for Potter men."

"Miss Desdemona," said Harry, "By now even I recognize we are in a dream. I could wake up at any moment and you'd be a memory of a dream. This isn't the place to do our business. I really ought to summon you properly. The ritual doesn't look complicated. It would be better if I had Daphne here to discuss this with…"

Harry woke up. He sat up in bed and looked around the tent. No Desdemona. He got up and walked to the tent flap in his socks and looked out. Ron was walking slowly in the open space before the tent, looking this way and that, up and down. He appeared to Harry to be very involved in his watchstanding.

A bright light shone between the tent and Ron, a great CRACK sounded, and Daphne appeared. She shook her head and looked around.

"What?" said Harry, then seeing Ron had his wand in hand said, "Ron, no, it's Daphne, don't cast anything!"

"What?" Harry repeated, directing his query at Daphne.

"You said you wanted to talk to her," said Daphne. She sounded like Desdemona in Harry's dream.

"Desdemona?" asked Harry.

"Yes, although I'll shut up now and let you all get reacquainted."

"Harry Potter what have you done?" shrieked Daphne, this time in Daphne's voice.

"I haven't done anything, I was just having a dream where I was talking to Desdemona and I mentioned in passing that I needed to talk to you about the Potter grimoire and relations with demons and Desdemona took off. Apparently, she took off to fetch you in accordance with my casual observation," said Harry, adding, "In a…GOSHDARN…DREAM!"

"Fine," said Daphne, "I propose the following: Let's get a pentangle laid out here first thing. Hermione, got any chalk or flour or any kind of powder we can use for a pentangle? Oh, and candles, we'll need five, one for each point of the star. Then YOU, young lady, are going to un-possess me while we all discuss this civilly, like proper witches and wizards, and, um, one demon, do."

"I protest…" Desdemona tried, before Harry issued a peremptory, "Desdemona, please? Let's give Daphne's plan a try."

There was no more out of Desdemona. Maybe it was the please.

With everyone working there was a perfectly serviceable pentangle on the forest floor in about fifteen minutes' time.

"Desdemona, OUT!" Daphne commanded as she stood in the pentagon at the center. She gave a shudder all over before staggering out of the circle. Harry and Ron linked arms and helped her to a log. When they turned back, there in the pentagon stood a dark haired, dark skinned woman in a dress that looked like something from an old Roman mosaic. She wasn't completely materialized but looked fine, as demons go. She was barefoot and bare-armed and wore an elaborate silver bracelet on one ankle and armlets on both upper arms. Her eye makeup was best described as plentiful.

"Hello, Harry," said Desdemona with a shy smile. "We meet, at last."

"Now you listen to me," called Daphne from her log. "We're going to get one thing straight right now…"

"Harry," Desdemona giggled, "Don't take that bloodless plain-girl image she projects as indicative of anything. Oooh, Merlin, I do like to possess them at this age. They are so hot."

"If I may?" Harry asked, trying to sound firm and in charge although he was not sure he was either. He looked back and forth between Desdemona and Daphne.

"We're involved in some serious business," said Harry. "Magical Britain has been taken over to a great extent by a dark wizard. Daphne can be a big help since she's inside Hogwarts School, but she can't get what she learns out to us so we can act on it. We're doing something else out here. It involves staying away from the Dark Lord's forces while we look for some…things. Kind of a treasure hunt. At the end of it all there is going to be a fight. Me versus him."

"Yup," said Desdemona. "I'll help. I'll decide what I can do, and what I can't. You have to live by the rules of your world. It's not for me to violate that. It's the way things are set up."

Daphne had calmed down quite a bit. In fact, she was inhabiting her bloodless plain-girl persona again.

"Desdemona, can I ask you a question?" asked Daphne. "Before we go any further, are you a Potter family demon?"

"Actually, Daph, I'm a Peverell family demon," she said. "I was associated with them before the Peverell name existed. The night before Iolanthe Peverell married her Potter we had a long talk. She wasn't completely convinced of the quality of Potter's character and she asked me to stay on, just until she was sure he wasn't going to treat her badly to the point of needing correction, and I've been with Potters ever since. Oh, we've had so much fun. Anyway, Daph, is that what you wanted to know?"

"Pretty much," said Daphne. "Harry, Desdemona is associated with your family, but she doesn't actually belong to you. You two need to work on things of mutual interest, or expect to work on a quid pro quo basis, one hand washing the other, you could say. And I don't go by Daph."

"Oh, well, I'm sure we could make a deal on that, Daph," said Desdemona. "Now what do you want me to do?"

"We need a secure courier service," Harry began.

"There are certain problems if I try to do that, so I recommend you use the elf," said Desdemona. "He's loyal to you to a degree even he isn't yet aware of, and he comes and goes already, so he won't arouse suspicion."

Harry looked at Daphne, who nodded.

"Excellent," said Harry. "Can you do reconnaissance?"

"You'll have to find your own toys," said Desdemona. "It's your quest. Seems hard now but you'll thank me later."

"Great," said Harry, his tone indicating he didn't think it great at all. "Can I take it from this meeting that summoning you doesn't require an elaborate ritual? Since we had a conversation in a dream, of all places, and you went off from there and brought Daphne to us."

"Good observation, Potter," said Desdemona. "Very astute for one so ill-educated and inexperienced. I can see I'm going to have a GOOD time working with you."

"Now, just one minute, Desdemona," Daphne tried.

"Oh, Daph, you are so precious," said Desdemona. "So, if there isn't anything else, can I take Daph back before she's missed?"

"I guess so," Harry said, looking at Daphne. "I really need some help with the grimoire, but it will have to be sometime when we have an hour or two."

"Whenever that will be," Daphne said.

She got up from her log and walked to the circle. Harry stood right outside. They looked at each other but neither felt like putting on a show for a demon they barely knew, so they kept back, just reaching out to squeeze the other's hand. Daphne stepped into the circle, then into the pentagon. Desdemona disappeared, then Daphne, the puff of wind blowing out all the candles.

"They seem nice," said Ron. It was lame, but it served to break the tension.

"Well, Harry, what have we learned from our experience?" asked Hermione.

Harry looked more than a bit sheepish.

"Be careful when you're having a dream about demons," said Harry. "They can take idle speculation seriously, even in a dream."

"Good, that's one," said Hermione. "You have Peverell ancestry, did you pick up on that?"

"Not really," said Harry. "What do you think that means?"

"I do recall seeing a tombstone in the St. Jerome cemetery for Ignotus Peverell," said Hermione. "It had that triangular figure that keeps showing up. Did you notice?"

"I remember it," said Harry. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I was kind of overcome in the cemetery. Not very observant. Then the snake…"

"Perfectly understandable," said Hermione. "That symbol seems to have a bearing on what we're about, at least to me. It keeps showing up. Someone added it to Beadle the Bard. You noticed Mr. Lovegood wearing it at the wedding. Do you think he might be able to tell us what it means?"

"We don't know anyone else, do we?" Harry asked.

"Not that I know of," said Hermione. "No one we have access to, anyway."

"You know where the Lovegoods live, don't you Ron?" asked Harry.

"Sure, it's not far from the Burrow," said Ron. "We can go by apparation."

Thus began an extraordinarily exciting and enlightening day. By the time it was over, Harry and friends had learned about the Deathly Hallows' significance and the elements of the triangular symbol, that the name of Voldemort had been embargoed and could no longer be spoken without attracting Death Eater enforcers, that the Malfoys held prisoners in their family dungeon at the Dark Lord's direction, and that Draco Malfoy could be disarmed with relative ease. They'd also lost Dobby, and Hermione had been branded 'Mudblood' by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry gave himself a day and a night at Shell Cottage to think through all of their new information and begin formulating a plan. Bellatrix' panic at seeing the sword of Godric Gryffindor outside of her vault at Gringotts virtually screamed at Harry: "Look in the vault! Look in the vault!"

If Desdemona wouldn't help find the horcruxes, perhaps she'd provide logistical support. Given Gringotts' layers of powerful goblin security measures, Harry thought it likely the only way in was with the cooperation of Gringotts. That meant getting Director Ragnak to take a meeting.

Harry came in from outside and motioned to Ron and Hermione. The three walked down to the broad strand where the calls of seabirds and the wash of sea water on sand guaranteed some privacy. Besides, the sounds were delightfully conducive to conversation. Harry explained his plan for getting access to the Lestrange vault while they walked.

"Madness," Ron pronounced.

"But if Gringotts will cooperate…" Harry suggested.

"How likely is that, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Gringotts remains neutral in disputes among the wizards. They serve everyone. It's how they survive."

"True, but this is one very bad wizard," argued Harry. "If the proposition is presented to Ragnak, in the right way, contrasting a return to normalcy with the self-evident drawbacks for everyone, Gringotts included, in the event of a victory by our opponent…Well, follow the logic. Ragnak is logical. His only passion is getting gold and, possibly, counting it after he's gotten it. The other side will destroy the magical economy and probably steal all the gold, given the chance."

"Still, goblins," said Ron. "Rational for them is not the same as for us."

"You make a good case, Harry," said Hermione. "Have you a plan for getting Ragnak to meet with you? You are the most wanted wizard in Britain at the moment. If he were inclined to help, or even step aside and give you free passage, cooperation with you would earn him a very painful death if word got out."

"I'm working on that," said Harry.

It was simple enough, in the end. Harry summoned Kreacher to Shell Cottage and instructed him to return to Hogwarts and bring Daphne back at the first opportunity. If something prevented her from coming in a reasonable time, Kreacher was to return and tell Harry in person. Kreacher was able to come back with Daphne in less than an hour.

"Anyplace you just have to be?" Harry asked.

"I've gone to see Madame Pomfrey, some kind of female thing, could be hours before I'm back in the classroom," Daphne said. "What's up?"

"I need to get into a vault at Gringotts, and I don't see how it is possible to defeat the security systems," Harry began. "I would ask for an appointment with Ragnak and make my pitch, but there are obvious problems with movement right now."

Harry went on, bringing Daphne into his confidence. He did not use the word horcrux, nor did he bring up the splitting of souls and the effect that would have on survivability. He emphasized the necessity of getting access to a vault and removing an item if they were to defeat the Dark Lord.

"Okay," said Daphne. "That assistant to the director was so nice. He offered his services if I ever needed anything from Gringotts in the future. I expect he meant if we needed to meet to talk about combining vaults and investments and all that red tape, considering how we arrived together and visited your family vault, but, he offered, so…"

One exchange of parchment notes later, Daphne gave Harry a very quick kiss on the lips and disapparated. Ragnak was not deficient in wiliness. He understood from the unusual request from Daphne for a crash meeting that something serious was afoot, probably related to the current national magical crisis. Daphne's destination was not Gringotts. Instead, following the application of some creative camouflage, she apparated to the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron and immediately went inside.

The crone in the black cloak and turban walked through the pub and took the stairs. She knocked twice on the door to Room Fourteen and waited for the croak of Ragnak's goblin voice before entering.

"Miss Greengrass," said Ragnak. "Please."

Daphne took the seat offered and accepted a cup of tea from Ragnak's assistant.

"So, how can Gringotts help you today, Miss Greengrass?" asked Ragnak.

Daphne outlined the problem, as far as she could. She emphasized the necessity of recovering a dark artifact if the Dark Lord was to be defeated. She acknowledged the difficulty everyone would have in protecting Gringotts. She freely admitted she was working with Undesirable Number One, as much as putting her life, and quite possibly, that of her immediate family in Ragnak's hands.

Ragnak acknowledged Gringotts' suspicions about the vault in question. Security, confidentiality and neutrality in wizarding disputes notwithstanding, Gringotts had standards and there was such a thing as going too far. Ragnak's first duty was to the bank, he said. He suggested Harry and his party present themselves at opening of business the next day, using whatever concealment they felt appropriate. They should expect some difficulties. Gringotts did have to put on a display in order not to be complicit, after all.

The next day, Daphne was back at Hogwarts when rumors started to circulate about some disturbance at Gringotts. The bank was one of the continuing institutions that supported the magical world. Dark Lord and Dark Army notwithstanding, every wizarding family expected Gringotts to be holding down its corner of Diagon Alley and still functioning when the current difficulties were over.

No one could attribute the gossip to a credible source. Even so, the astonishing details that kept coming in became more and more fantastic while at the same time sounding more and more like the kind of desperado moves Hogwarts had been seeing Harry Potter make for six and one-half years.

The reality was much more mundane, as in so many cases. Daphne had dropped off Ragnak's views on the matter on her way back to Hogwarts.

"Expect some difficulties? Put on a display?" asked Ron, incredulous.

"Yes," said Harry, "Of course they'll have to do something, won't they? Ragnak will have a plan. It's not like him to let this play out by chance. How about if we go ahead with Hermione's Polyjuice and your transformation to Bellatrix' mute thug from the Continent, me under the cloak…"

What actually happened was this: Hermione showed up as Bellatrix Lestrange and was recognized as a fake by an alert security goblin. He pointed the false Bellatrix and Ron the Euro-thug out to the human security personnel who took them to a back room for interrogation. Harry used the imperious curse to immobilize the guards. Hermione conjured a pack of Old Maid cards and they left the guards happily engaged.

"Mr. Potter…this way!" hissed Ragnak's assistant through a door hidden in the paneling. The path to the vaults had been confirmed to be clear of anyone not concerned with the operation, and access temporarily closed for maintenance. The Lestrange vault yielded to the assistant's hand and Harry sensed the Voldemortian presence of a horcrux almost immediately. He spotted Helga Hufflepuff's cup on a shelf and brought it down by sliding Draco's wand into one of the handles and flipping the cup to Ron.

"Sword?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione.

She reached in her bag, then shook her head.

"You lost it?" Ron demanded. His face flush and his eyes suddenly giving him a very dangerous look.

"No," said Hermione. "It was here. It must have gone back to Hogwarts, to the headmaster's office. That's what it does when it senses it isn't needed anymore."

Harry nodded.

"No matter," he said. "We've got the cup. When we have to destroy it, we'll have the sword at hand. Let's get out of here."

Of course, the best-laid plans of mice and men, et cetera. The human security force couldn't stay interested in Old Maid forever, had come to their senses, and made their way to the vaults.

"Take the dragon, he knows the way out," said the assistant.

"What about you?" the other three asked at once.

"I'll direct the operation to get you back," said the assistant, looking like a goblin in his element.

The dragon, freed from its chains, did know the way out, through a tunnel to the surface. It was taken out for exercise once weekly by a dragon-handling goblin on staff for just that purpose. All the death and destruction upstairs were part of Ragnak's arrangements, although the 'dead' goblins were paid handsomely for their silence.

Still, the rumors were true, or at least some were, and Harry, Ron and Hermione did 'steal' Gringotts' watch-dragon and fly north with their loot. That was the end of keeping their purpose concealed from Voldemort, of course. It wasn't that much of a loss, because they'd known they couldn't keep the secret forever.

By the time they got inside Hogwarts, the Dark Army was on the way. The DA and the Order knew they'd have to fight at some point. At least they had hopes this would be the last battle. Pansy Parkinson did everyone a big, big favor by showing her intentions, as well as the faction that saw things as she did.

"Library, the little window-bench," Harry managed to pass to Daphne before dashing off with Luna to seek out Helena Ravenclaw. He should have known better.

Daphne got tired of waiting for Harry to get back from whatever side-adventure he had going. There was fighting going on. It hadn't reached the library but it could get there. Daphne didn't want to be taken by surprise, so she left the library and went out to take a look around. She followed the noise up and down corridors and found Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco outside the room of requirement. The great door was just closing on some wicked fire when Daphne arrived.

"So," Daphne began. "What's next?"

"Daphne…" Harry tried.

"NO Harry Potter," Daphne said. "What was this all about? What is going on? What is next?"

"We found two dark objects that had to be destroyed," Harry said. "They figure in…, in the end. In ending all of this. There is very little left to do. I want you to take Draco and get him someplace safe."

Harry leaned in close and spoke just for Daphne.

"He isn't made for this," he said. "Get him to the Slytherin dorm or Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Out of the way."

"Sure," said Daphne, glad to have something to do. "What about you?"

"One more little thing," said Harry. "Now, the snake has to die. They know. So does Neville. It's an Animagus, it just can't change back to human anymore. It's intelligent. He communicates with it. He's trying to protect it, at all cost. Neville will be looking for his chance, but I think we might have an edge. Desdemona!"

"Hello, Harry," Daphne said, her voice raising up thoughts of the oldest, smoothest mead in a generous, shared snifter, birdsong, a hammock, and lovers.

"Harry…" Hermione tried.

"Desdemona," Harry said as he unwrapped Daphne's arms and tried to step back to a chaste distance. "This isn't the time or place…"

"Oh, it is, Harry," said Desdemona. "You don't know how much fun love can be until you're grabbing a little in the midst of a desperate battle."

Ron looked at Hermione, a questioning, hopeful look on his face.

"Not one chance in a thousand, Ronald," Hermione volunteered through gritted teeth.

"Desdemona," Harry said, "We have a problem. There is a great snake about. She's Voldemort's familiar, an Animagus that's stuck in her snake form. She will be confronting one or more of us and someone will have a shot at her, but she is fast and treacherous. You're going to possess her and wait until we need a little advantage. Then I want you to take control of the snake. Make her coil up around herself, or something. Then save yourself. Timing will be crucial. Can you do that?"

"Of course," said Desdemona. "Can spindly-legs get me close? That would make it easier."

"Count on it," Harry said, not at all sure he could guarantee Daphne's cooperation.

"Let me talk to Daphne."

"I heard you, Harry Potter," said Daphne. "You're so presumptuous."

"Daphne, if you don't want to," Harry began.

"Oh, shut it, Potter," said Daphne. "It's a good plan. I'm annoyed you came up with it on your own, that's all. First of all, I have to get Blondie out of this mess. I'll look for the snake on the way. Maybe we can take care of two things at once. Are you listening, Desdemona?"

"Of course, Daphne."

Desdemona's voice was coming out of Daphne's mouth now.

"When you can see the snake, I'll leave you. She won't even know I'm there."

"Great," said Harry. "Now, I have an appointment."

He hugged Ron, Hermione and Daphne, adding a kiss with Daphne, then dashed away.

Voldemort took his best shot in the Forbidden Forest. Of course it wasn't good enough, but Harry did such an acting job no one was the wiser until he revealed himself back at the castle. Voldemort felt his last horcrux wink out with Nagini. After that his heart really wasn't in the fight with Harry, who would wonder for as long as he lived if Tom Riddle had actually started to feel the beginnings of affection, or even a little bit of love, for another being in Nagini. It didn't matter in the end, of course, because they were both gone from the scene.

Desdemona spoke up as soon as Voldemort went down.

"Get to Daphne, Harry," she said. There was no playfulness in her voice. "She's got a problem."

"Where?" Harry asked.

"Inside. Second floor corridor."

Harry didn't stop to ask where Desdemona was coming from, he just ran up the stairs, two at a time.

Daphne did indeed have a problem. Thinking everything had finally settled down she'd run to the dungeons where Astoria and Tracey had been waiting patiently. No one was around to watch the Slytherins that had been escorted down at Professor McGonagall's direction, so Daphne just walked in and found them.

"Let's go," she said with a 'come-along' gesture. She turned without another word and headed for the stairs. They were turning into the second-floor corridor before Daphne spoke again.

"Last time I saw him…" she began, almost to herself.

"Will be the last time you ever see him, blood traitor!" said Amycus Carrow as he stepped out of a doorway, wand up and ready to cast.

"Wands! All three of you!" he shouted.

Daphne thought Amycus meant what he said. She reached down and grasped Astoria's hand, then Tracey's.

"Love you," Daphne said.

"Love you, too," said both of her companions.

Amycus couldn't resist wasting time on a little taunting.

"You three had it all, with the Dark Lord, and you threw it away," said Carrow. "Big, big mistake. Cast your lot with Potter? Stupid, stupid…"

Harry came up behind Carrow, assessing the situation as he walked. He had thrown his cloak over himself but wasn't making an effort to be quiet. Carrow began to turn as Harry swept the cloak off, motioning down, down with his left hand. Daphne caught his meaning, held tight to Astoria and Tracey's hands and put the three of them on the floor.

"Difindo!" Harry heard inside his own thoughts.

The cutting curse started at the top of Amycus Carrow's head and sliced cleanly down and through his groin. The two halves of the late Amycus Carrow held together for a second and Harry watched the disbelief hit both sides of Carrow's face as the separation began.

"Well done, Potter," said Desdemona from inside Harry's head.

"Well done, Potter," said Daphne, with neither help nor prompting from Desdemona.

"Ooooo…never seen that before," said Astoria.

"Ewwwww….," said Tracey.

"Clean-up needed on the second floor," Harry muttered, then, "Peeves!"

Desdemona spoke through Harry.

"Peeves, get your poltergeist manifestation over here right now, there's some trash that needs throwing-out!"

Peeves materialized in the corridor.

"Wish I could still vomit," he said as he looked over the last earthly remains of Amycus Carrow.

Harry took over.

"Peeves, you like throwing things. How about throwing all this out that window over there, nothing's down below? Then a little water to wash down the floor. Get the corridor fit for decent people to see."

"And if I refuse?" asked Peeves.

"You heard Desdemona, didn't you?" said Harry. "You two know each other, I could tell by the way she called you."

"Not Desdemona, milord, have mercy, I beg you," replied Peeves, his attitude transformed.

"Then please, Peeves, hasten to cleanse the corridor of this pestilence and earn my eternal gratitude," said Harry, before turning away and motioning for his charges to follow.

"Where are we going?" asked Desdemona from inside Harry.

"Where are we going?" asked Astoria.

"Something our friendly demon said to me stuck in my mind," Harry replied. "We had to find our own toys. Some of my toys are missing, and I aim to get them back."

Harry led his party past the gargoyle and up the spiral stairs to the headmaster's rooms. Several minutes of pandemonium followed as the former headmasters' portraits clapped, cheered and congratulated Harry and his team. Even Phineas Nigellas Black joined in, skeptical as he had been of Harry's suitability for almost any task save insolence.

"What plans, Lord Black?" asked the late headmaster.

"Daphne?" said Harry as he opened his arm to bring Daphne close.

"Headmaster, may I present the Honorable Miss Daphne Greengrass? She is a Devon-bred pureblood witch of the most exquisite quality, farm-raised and full of energy. I plan to make her the mistress of #12 Grimmauld Place as soon as I can negotiate arrangements with her father. After that, no plans. Make my wife happy. That's it."

This set off another round of cheers and congratulations from the portraits, which were still going on when Professor McGonagall walked in.

"Potter, what…?" she asked.

"I've come to examine the headmaster's bookshelves," said Harry. "I suspect there are proscribed volumes…"

He stepped over to the shelves and spotted three volumes of Peverell grimoire and two of the Potters.'

"Aha!" he said. "I anticipated something of a haul, hence my assistants' presence. Witches?"

Harry pulled the books from the shelves and handed them round. Harry took the most recent volume of the Potter grimoire and crossed the room to stand before Dumbledore's portrait.

"Wake up!" he shouted.

Dumbledore did a credible performance of an old man rudely awakened from a most enjoyable nap.

"Were you going to share with me the meaning of the family grimoire, Professor?" Harry demanded.

"Of course, Harry," said the portrait Dumbledore, "And lest you think I stole those, let me assure you I simply borrowed them and held onto them for safekeeping, until you were old enough and knowledgeable enough to use them."

"How did you get them out of the vault?" asked Harry.

"They weren't in the vault," said Dumbledore. "They were in your parents' house in Godric's Hollow. They'd have been pilfered, or destroyed by weather and vermin if left there."

"Hmm…" mused Harry. "I owe you thanks for saving them, then. Your sense of timing was getting away from you, though. I'd have made good use of these the last few years."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Dumbledore. "We walk before we run. In any event, we can't re-write history, and the outcome has been most favorable. I can see Miss Daphne agrees with me."

Harry looked and Daphne was beaming at him, seconded by Tracey and Astoria.

"Point," said Harry. "Headmistress, I'll take my leave. These witches have parents. I have to make my report. They will want me to account for my actions."

Once out in the corridor Harry proposed, in front of Astoria, Tracey and the gargoyle.

"Not that I want to put you under any pressure to say yes…" Harry said, looking up from the spot where he'd taken a knee.

"Potter," said Daphne with just a little exasperation in her tone. "Of course. Stand up and let me kiss you properly."

Thus, the rumors that had been swirling for nearly a year were borne out by events. Negotiations went smoothly. Hugh Greengrass didn't have a male heir so he made a pitch for Harry and Daphne's firstborn son to take the surname Greengrass. Harry countered with a stipulation that the child would be given the name James Greengrass Potter and that the family grimoire would be annotated conferring that name on the firstborn of the male line of Potters for as long as it continued.

Harry ended the story of how he met Daphne right there.

"What do you think?" he asked Doria.

Harry was a fair storyteller, but he'd outdone himself. Doria wasn't the only one listening. A dining room full of Potters, Potter in-laws and associates sat with tea, coffee or little pieces of stemware holding all manner of libations when he finished.

Doria pulled herself up and kissed her grandfather on the cheek.

"I think you and Grandmother are heroes, Grandfather," she said.

"Ah, well, we're very happy together, and we're happy we have all of you, so that's an accomplishment," Harry said. "Other than that, we're just an ordinary magical couple."

Author's Note: _This concludes An Ordinary Magical Couple. Many thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a note or added An Ordinary Magical Couple to your favorites list. _


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